ell  and  Win 


erick  Fanning  Ayer 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

University  of  California. 

GIFT     ~    c|jci-*-J^>-A      *^o->-*JltfV>/vA^Q_AA-.    , 

Class     fS'? 


BELL   AND   WING 


BY 

FREDERICK   FANNING  AYER 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

^be  ftnicltecbocFiec  press 
1911 


Copyright,  igii 

BY 

FREDERICK  FANNING  AVER 

V     - 


Ube  Vtnicfterbocliec  ptese,  "new  Soth 


CONTENTS 


Gage  d'Amour 

A  Bird  in  a  Bonnet 

Lilac 

Wytopitlock  . 

To  Such  a  Wife 

One  Man 

Trickly  Le  Bon  Pot 

Pyrrha  . 

Summer  Days 

Gloxinia 

No  Man's  Friend    . 

sufficit 

Man  and  Bird 

In  the  Nature  of  Things 

Pearl 

Know  Thyself 

Peter  Roublemint 

Now  AND  Then 

GOLGOTHA   . 

Edward  Farnum  Southwick 

The  Appian  Way     . 

In  C(elis 

Song 

Lover  to  Priest 

supernity 

Egohood 

Here  's  Luck  . 

Sing,  Gentle  Bird 

"Success"  at  a  Brush 

Quechee  River 


PAGE 

I 
6 
II 
13 
15 
19 
28 
30 
42 
45 
49 
54 
63 
67 
78 
83 
85 
90 

93 
no 

"5 
118 
122 
124 
126 
132 
143 
146 
150 
153 


223719 


IV 


Contents 


Lord  Lavish    . 
VILLAGE  FOOL 

Ben  Total 

Come,  Come  Away  . 

My  Xenium 

On  the  Rhine 

Nonconformist 

Pebbles 

Doctor  and  Patient 

Boy  Song 

One  Afternoon 

Agnes     . 

Jockey-Day 

The  Man  of  It 

ViEWFULLY 

ootrum  and  corncockle 

Know  Thy  Task 

THE  MAN  MILITANT 

A  Bachelor 

In  the  Overworld  . 

A  Japanese  War  Claim 

Impromptu 

Deversorium  Viatoris  II 

Her  Duke 

Halo  Skimp 

OLD  DARBY  . 

Love 

Little  Silver. 

Twins 

Hell 

Sheldrake  Elegance 

His  Worst 

My  Friends 

Man  and  Book 

Wily  Smiley   . 

Among  Ruins  . 

For  Example  . 

Dead 

Know  Thy  Phyllis. 

Esto  Perpetua 


iercsolymam  Proficiscentis 


PAGE 

158 
163 
179 

185 
191 
196 

203 
211 
216 
228 
231 
238 
241 
244 
248 
258 
262 
265 
290 
294 
297 
301 
306 
308 

315 

320 

335 
337 
342 
346 
350 
355 
364 
371 
376 
383 
390 
394 
403 
406 


Contents 


A  Robber        ........ 

Bountiful  Canny's  Grandd.'Vughter  from  Dull  Moor 

Mabel  Mapleton 

Afraid  of  Me? 

Endlessness   . 

In  a  Mirror    . 

In  a  Dream 

Paper  Dolls  . 

Pink  Apple  Point 

Valerie  Fay  . 

No  Death 

Craft 

Always  Rosalie 

At  Sea    . 

The  Story  of  Zemepheth  Tallith 

One  Great  Man 

Hereafter 

In  Preston 

Rosy  Weigelia 

Life  in  the  World 

Eunice   . 

IN  A  BELL-TOWER 

Confidentially 

Adelyn,  or  How  to  Win  Her 

MOON  FIELDS,  OR  MAN  THE  GOD 

Not  Your  Dog! 

Brothers 

Man  or  Spider? 

Know  Thy  Horse 

Leo  and  Elfinella. 

Thinking  of  Eunice 

To  A  Street  Minstrel    . 

Don  Dun 

Polly  Man  and  Folly  Girl 

Campo  Santo 

In  an  Inn 

Athanasia 

Pluck-Luck 

Brilla    . 

By  Love. 


410 
417 
430 
435 
439 
443 
447 
452 
456 

465 
467 

473 
479 
482 

485 
488 
492 
503 
507 
512 
522 
526 
542 
545 
556 
658 
660 
663 
669 
674 
686 
694 
698 
702 
707 
711 
716 
719 
732 
737 


VI 


Contents 


Alioth 

MiDFiELD  Thoughts 

gunflint 

Thinking  of  Preston 

Euthanasia     . 

Imperialism     . 

Know  Thy  Chick 

Rivals    . 

Priest  and  Sequela 

Greatness 

Eunice  and  I  . 

Thou  Shalt  Not  Kill 

Lost  and  Found 

Spirit 

Waiting 

A  Sky  Word    . 

Worship  versus  Love 

Spirit  Beauty 

Clasping  the  Roses 

Semper  Supra 

Dollar-Foot  Farm 

Incognito 

CLAUDU 

The  General 

Raison  d'Etre 

A  Song  in  a  Thistle 

The  Heel  of  the  Hunt 

PRUNELLA'S  PRIEST 

One  Nobleman 

Run-Amuck  Mack  . 

'Round  a  Corner    . 

Two  Kinds  of  Love 

Antipodes 

Cassandra  Southwick 

The  Question 

Rosalie  . 

A  Monk  in  Monotone 

The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

Cor  Cordium  . 

Among  the  Moonbeams 


745 
748 
752 
756 
761 
768 
777 
783 
786 

795 
797 
801 

805 

807 

812  y 

817 

822 

827 

832 

836 

840 

846 

849 

861 

866 
870 
876 
881 
917 
920 
924 
928 
936 
944 
950 
955 
958 
961 

979 
982 


Contents 

vii 

PAGE 

At  a  Window 986 

Jealous  .... 

990 

At  the  Altar 

993 

Sword  and  Pen 

997 

De  Amicitia    . 

lOOI 

Kings  and  Queens  . 

1005 

Philosopher  and  Priest 

1009 

Know  Thy  Mate 

IOI5 

Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar 

IOI9 

Death    .... 

1030 

Not  So  Quick. 

1035 

After  Death  . 

1040 

Eagle  Song     . 

1047 

A  Shriving  Pen 

1049 

Elsewhere 

1054 

BREAD  ON  THE  WATERS 

1057 

More  and  Higher  . 

1072 

Not  a  Word    . 

1077 

Tragedy 

1082 

Charlotte 

1087 

A  Bras  Ouverts 

1090 

The  Sylph  Self 

I09I 

Gamblers 

1094 

My  Wren 

1098 

Ella  and  Stella     . 

IIOI 

For  Love 

1 105 

Under  Snow   . 

II09 

PiCKTHANK  AND  PRUDENCE 

nil 

Not  Yet 

III8 

Sunrise  Reverie     . 

II22 

ViRTUTE,  NON  AsTUTIA       , 

II29 

Elbows 

1 136 

Fearfulness  ... 

II40 

A  Friend 

II46 

LONGINGS  OF  AN  ACOLYTE 

II53 

The  Night  of  the  Big  Wind 

1167 

My  Rose 

II7I 

For  a  Sign 

II75 

The  Stars 

II82 

Elmbank 

1 186 

Vlll 


Contents 


Peacham  Pasture    . 
ewigzeitgeist 
The  Indictment 
Battle   .... 
To  Whom  it  May  Concern 
Two  Notes  of  a  Thrush 
To  My  Forefathers 
Savigny  and  Seltzerella 
Priestliness  . 
Not  all  is  Gold 
By  Moonrise  . 
Heaven 


PAGE 

1 196 
1203 

I2I0 

I2I9 

1222 
1227 
1230 
1234 
1239 
1245 
1248 
1256 


^ 


BELL  AND  WING 


BELL  AND  WING 


GAGE  D'  AMOUR 

Here  is  only  one  speckled  flower 
Out  of  my  garden, 
Grew  sweetness  there  and  power 
Meant  to  reguerdon 
Such  complemental  care, 
Shows  sun- wash,  lashing  air, 
Shows  a  way  of  its  own 
Which  itself  has  grown, 
And  now  is  blue  and  white 
And  a  beautiful  sight. 

I  tuck  the  flower  inside 

My  breast,  as  you  see. 

Where  such  memories  hide 

As  will  live  with  me — 

Two  memories,  and  both  such 

As  never  time  could  touch 

In  any  eternity 

To  unravel  the  flower 

Or  strip  it  of  power, 

Or  crowd  its  light 

Out  of  my  sight, 


Gage  d' Amour 

Such  blue  and  such  white! 

My  garden?     Once  it  was  theirs. 
These  my  two  eternal  friends 
Death  captured, — death  spares 
The  spot  where  their  lilac  bends. 
For  there  were  they  too  in  spring; 
This  was  their  oriole, 
Once  they  heard  him  sing 
Such  overflow  of  soul 
As  made  the  meadows  ring 
As  if  they  too  had  soul  to  sing. 

Here  is  their  pebble-path; 

They  took  it  in  their  day 

For  the  twist  it  hath 

And  cut-diamond-play 

In  among  these  showers 

Of  pelican  flowers 

Where  I  walk,  while  I  see  too 

This  flower  is  white,  that  is  blue, 

But  no  flower  leaps  so  free 

Or  full  of  ripe  supremity 

As  this  blue  flower  they  left  to  me. 

In  it  is  power  to  fight 
Wind  or  cuff  of  sleet 
To  capture  jacaranda  light, 
Turn  the  rye-grass  sweet 
As  sweetness,  stand  straight, 
Put  a  cheek  to  any  fate 
To  execute  any  feat. 
Make  this  effort-life  complete. 


Gage  d'Amour 

Shall  I  follow  my  two  friends  on 

Their  way  they  have  gone, 

Seek  to  be  as  they 

In  their  former  day 

And  their  world  away, 

Or  make  my  soul  distinct 

As  the  pheasant's-eye  is  pinked, 

Wears  its  own  pate. 

Goes  its  own  gait 

To  be  the  one  way  typed  and  great? 

For  though  the  same  sun  now  shines  out, 

Each  man  nurses  his  own  doubt. 

As  each  cloud  wears  its  unique  pout. 

Yonder  is  each  garden-chair 

Where  they  would  sit  at  noon 

To  say:  "Life  is  worth  a  care; 

Does  not  midnight  make  the  moon?" 

There  was  I,  the  child. 

There  they  cooed  and  smiled 

To  see  me  puzzle  to  know 

And  mimic  to  grow, 

So  would  say:  "Love  to  our  child! 

See  that  you  learn  to  glee 

As  the  reed-bird  flashes  wild 

From  his  eucalyptus  tree 

Because  he  is  himself  and  free!" 

So  I  took  their  word, 
Not  their  way  they  went; 
I  followed  what  I  heard, 
My  own  ballad-bent, 
My  own  truth  I  had, 


Gage  d' Amour 

Never  priest  nor  myriad 
To  govern  me  or  suggest, 
So  I  enforced  my  best 
Of  my  whole  self  as  I  was 
For  love  of  it  and  because 
I  got  the  flower  from  them, 
This  blue  lily  on  a  stem. 

With  me  always  to  last 

Is  the  thing  I  love, 

The  thought  of  them  that  are  past, 

Their  path  to  beyond  and  above 

Anything  about  I  see, 

Anything  I  know  or  think, 

For  soul  is  one  eternity. 

And  so  I  love  this  brink 

Of  life  I  look  from,  since  I  know 

They  looked  and  loved  the  same  way  so. 

Death  is  like  being  bom; 

Now  that  I  unravel  light 

I  see  life  is  only  night, 

I  see  death  is  only  dawn. 

So  I  keep  gladness  in  hand, 

I  foot  my  garden  through 

Where  once  they  took  their  stand. 

Took  this  flower,  white  and  blue. 

To  drop  to  me,  the  which  I  keep 

To  carry — there  's  the  soul  I  reap. 

Yet  are  they  gone,  so  I  am  sad. 
While  next  around  me  now 
Each  thrasher  in  his  heart  is  glad 
Of  blossom  in  his  apple-bough. 


Gage  d'Amour 

And  so  he  sings  to  sing, 

Never  minds  the  gain  at  hand, 

Mate  or  any  happy  land. 

But  just  his  love  of  carolling 

Is  uppermost,  so  he  scarce  knows 

Any  harsh  wind  how  it  blows. 

While  I  am  up  to  follow,  try 

If  I  may  catch  his  song  and  eye 

Only  to  find  how  slow 

My  heart  is,  my  note  how  low, 

For  here  are  their  tripod  and  garden  chair, 

Their  little  pebble  thoroughfare, 

And,  oh,  to  think  they  are  no  more  there! 


A  BIRD  IN  A  BONNET 


Caught  at  last — my  bird,  too! 

Out  of  your  meadow-lush  once  you  came 

That  white  morning  in  a  frock  of  blue 

To  match  your  eye-fire  against  a  game 

Of  sun-shots  from  an  early  dew, 

I  thought  it  and  said  it  then. 

There  was  danger  if  you  played  with  men. 


II 


Somewhat  of  men  I  know; 

You  too  had  learned  to  be  mostways  shy, 

Seeing  how  thy  take  to  killing  so 

And  you  not  ready  that  day  to  die, 

Flute  at  your  last  adagio, 

Dab  those  ribbon-wings  with  rust, 

Pay  life's  price,  one  little  puff  of  dust. 


Ill 


All  the  while  you  knew 
Men  are  dangerous,  mark  them  as  a  class, 
Make  light  of  that  which  is  fine  or  new. 
Would  not  let  a  starlit  starling  pass 
6 


A  Bird  in  a  Bonnet 

If  they  could  split  the  small  heart  through — 

Not  so  very  far  removed 

From  their  puma-cousin,  as  is  proved. 


IV 


Came  there  one  gentle  hand 
Of  my  Rosalie,  fingers  through  the  grass. 
Plucked  you,  tucked  you  in  her  bonnet-band 
— Who  could  let  such  gold-eyed  purple  pass?- 
So  a  whole  world  might  understand, 
Whether  you  dropped  or  on  you  went, 
How  Beauty  is  its  own  monument. 


In  an  oxlip  primrose 

Was  the  fine  last  note  I  caught  from  you 

When  your  early  new  morning  hymn  rose 

Up  through  one  necklace  of  dancing  dew 

Which  sprinkled  sparks  on  the  dim  close 

Till  color  and  song  and  fire 

Swept  my  soul  up  to  all  vast  desire. 


VI 


How  you  sang,  lips  torn  apart 

As  if  the  throat  and  soul  of  you  would  go 

To  take  with  them  such  heaven -hea vied  heart, 

Leave  a  few  stripes  and  sun-spots  below 

Which  men  might  finger,  see  to  chart — 

The  best  of  you  counted  not  much. 

Nothing  was  there  they  could  taste  or  touch! 


A  Bird  in  a  Bonnet 

VII 

What  lips — still  open  wide, 

Right  where  your  song  stopped  when  you  were  slain, 

As  if  you  thought,  just  before  you  died, 

You  could  catch  the  sweet  note  once  again! 

Throats  arc  narrow,  but  soul  is  wide, 

So  here  is  the  one  strange  thing, 

That  you  may  flash  no  more  nor  leap  nor  sing. 

VIII 

Your  song,  too,  has  that  died  out 
More  than  the  soul  which  made  it  has. 
For  here  we  have  it  again,  past  doubt. 
And  autumn  not  past  Michaelmas — 
Hark  to  what  wild  orchestral  shout. 
Right  where  my  true  Rosalie 
Has  hung  her  hat  in  an  almond  tree, 

IX 

Comes  from  a  dozen  throats 

Perched  just  above  you,  my  bonnet-queen. 

To  drop  you  a  shower  of  such  joy-bell  notes 

As  you  taught  them  once  behind  a  screen 

Of  holly  where  Christmas  dotes! 

How  they  call  to  you  and  shout 

For  wonder  that  you  only  gape  about! 

X 

So  is  your  song  still  there 
Like  your  yellow-spotted  frock  of  blue. 
All  that  once  was  of  you  that  was  fair. 
So  men  may  come  a  little  more  like  you 


A  Bird  in  a  Bonnet 

They  thought  to  kill — death  would  not  share 
With  you  and  your  soul-sonnet, 
My  mistress  of  a  summer  bonnet! 


XI 


Always,  too,  in  air, 

Whether  on  wing  or  hat  or  branches, 

Like  an  intermediary  there 

'Twixt  sky  and  earth  to  take  the  chances 

So  your  sweet  bosom  broke  forth  fair, 

One  sun-eyed  leap,  your  song  of  mirth. 

Like  you  were  calling  me  up  from  earth, 


XII 


As  ever  high  above  men, 

What  with  such  song-burst  out  of  color, 

I,  too,  look  up  again  and  again, 

This  anchored  world  looks  dull  and  duller 

Matched  with  your  moon-meridian, 

While  you  sweep  down  to  us,  God  knows, 

Only  to  perch  where  some  honey-petal  blows, 

XIII 

So  you  lighted  at  last 

With  Rosalie,  in  her  new  bonnet, 

Like  a  sailor  in  the  mizzcnmast, 

One  claw  of  zinfandel  coiled  upon  it. 

Scarlet  ipomoea  made  fast. 

And  she,  my  Rosalie  there, 

The  all-blown  rose  in  your  yard-arm  square! 


lo  A  Bird  in  a  Bonnet 

XIV 

Men  die  to  turn  to  poor 
Pale  nothing  of  a  wasted  face, 
While  you  there,  you  have  a  foothold  sure, 
Keep  your  purple  jacket  and  your  place 
Just  as  a  spirit  would,  secure 
Above  my  lady's  bonnet 
.  To  fly  the  world  through  safe  upon  it. 


XV 


Over  and  above  your  trees, 

Or  out  of  a  cloud  to  slip  away 

Against  all  heaven  as  if  you  would  please 

Its  blue  cold  breast  with  your  new  lay 

Or  rouse  it  by  one  burst  of  glees, 

I  knew  you  for  bell  and  wing. 

Wild  bugle- throated  Beauty  of  a  thing ! 


LILAC 

Conscience  hit  him :  It  was  wrong 

To  task  her 
To  be  weak  instead  of  strong ; 

To  ask  her 
To  look  lightly  on  the  human  Hfe — 

Death  or  strife; 

Pricked  and  stung  him :     It  was  weak 

To  love  her 
As  the  flashing  of  a  week 

Above  her, 
Just  to  glut  one  fancy  for  an  hour 

In  her  power; 

Clinched  and  cowed  him :  It  was  low 

In  the  breast 
To  make  her  common,  hollow 

As  the  rest; 
To  lock  her  joy  in  empty  sorrow 

To-morrow. 

Then  it  stabbed :  She  was  all 

As  a  child, 
As  quick  to  trip  and  fall 

If  beguiled ; 
Easily  tricked  and  fowled  as  a  lark 

After  dark. 


12  Lilac 

So  he  held  her  in  the  power 

Of  his  skill ; 
Could  have  crushed  her  in  an  hour 

To  his  will 
To  drop  her  to  your  hungry  street, 

Slime  and  sleet. 

Has  he  killed  because  the  art 

Was  his  best? 
Did  he  spill  the  linnet's  heart 

For  a  jest 
To  clip  its  narrow  wing  where  it  began, 

Noble  man? 

Could  he  never  learn  how  this 

Was  the  first 
Tiger's  impulse  which  was  his 

At  his  worst, 
Some  hell's  instinct  hellishly  recast 

From  the  Past? 

She  has  pinned  a  lilac  spray 

To  his  coat, 
The  flower  which  slept  that  day 

At  her  throat. 
So  caught  the  one  word  she  could  not  say 

On  its  way, 

Just  a  word:  Be  mj'^  true  man, 

Strong  as  Fate! 
Take  what  good  of  me  you  can. 

Small  or  great; 
Take  the  lilac  of  me,  't  is  the  best — 

Leave  the  rest. 


WYTOPITLOCK 

Cock-robin  hill  is  a  place  I  knew 

When  I  was  boy  and  all  day  long 
I  kept  an  ear  to  the  robin's  song, 
Kept  an  eye  to  where  he  flew 
In  the  sun  he  stopped, 
In  the  fog  he  chopped. 

By  the  hill-side  up  the  flowers  were  red. 
Or  under  foot  again  they  were  white. 
As  if  the  month  of  June  had  been  bled 
And  was  dying  like  a  wounded  knight! 
What  an  hour  it  was 
In  the  moss  and  haws! 

I  took  my  way  up  the  slope,  I  took 

My  way  by  my  mountain-laurel  brook 
To  reach  one  spot  of  pinnacle  where 
Chorus  drifted  in  the  air 
Like  the  throat  of  a  bird 
When  his  heart  is  heard. 

Such  a  fine  song  as  I  never  knew 

Was  dancing  now  with  the  dancing  wind, 
While  I  was  making  to  get  to  it  too 

Before  such  triumphant  glee  could  be  thinned 
By  the  time  I  took 
To  listen  and  look. 
13 


14  Wytopitlock 

Never  the  song  of  thrush  was  such 

As  this  was,  Hlted  and  tilted  so 
I  could  not  stop,  yet  I  feared  to  go 
Lest  I  should  lose,  by  a  step  too  much. 
One  call  or  one  note 
Of  the  trumpet-throat. 

On  I  manoeuvred  on  higher  up, 

Pulled  at  club-moss  or  wild  apple-cup, 
Made  my  way  straight  too  to  where  I  thought 
My  bird  was  and  such  music  was  wrought 
As  never  was  heard 
Out  of  lip  or  bird. 

Now  was  I  come  to  the  very  top. 

Now  was  my  song,  too,  come  to  a  stop 
And  I  listened — there  was  windless  hush. 
When,  snug  in  one  thick  calico-bush, 
Tucked  away  in  back 
By  her  trick  of  knack 

Was  Eunice,  my  Eunice,  her  way  she  knew 

To  summon  me  and  to  time  me  too 
By  her  song — her  song  of  the  April  wren 
Which  I  hear  now  as  I  heard  it  then. 
Her  song  which  I  hear 
After  many  a  year. 


TO  SUCH  A  WIFE 

Oh,  you  think  you  made  a  mistake 
Just  that  day  you  married  him 
For  love  and  his  own  sweet  sake, 
Which  now  you  think  was  a  girleen  whim— 
You  were  too  young  to  know  of  men, 
Wisdom  was  beyond  your  ken 
Or  your  needing  then. 

Life  took  its  chatty  way  along, 
You  found  no  fault  in  the  main, 
Each  day  captured  its  silver  song 
Of  tree-field  finch,  canary  grain. 
While  you  went  gathering,  day  on  day, 
The  sweets  of  life  your  young  way, 
Nor  a  plaint  to  say. 

He  was  high  kindness,  your  life-mate  was. 
One  strong  good  man,  kept  his  heart 
For  you  and  his  human  cause, 
Fought  his  way  by  the  mastermost  art 
Of  doing  his  all  for  the  world  and  you. 
Was  superhumanly  true, 

And  you  knew  it  too. 
15 


i6  To  Such  a  Wife 

Satellites  coiling  about  a  sun 

His  little  ones  were,  three  in  all, 

Made  in  his  image,  each  one — 

It  may  be  there  's  one  day  you  recall 

You  clung  to  the  youngest  to  let  him  know 

You  never  could  let  him  go, 

He  looked  the  father  so. 


Or  such  an  evening  as  Heaven  looks  down 
I  saw  you  both  once,  arm  in  arm, 
Far  over  beyond  our  town 
To  watch  the  stars  in  their  field  of  charm- 
That  evening  it  was  I  heard  you  say 
They  pointed  a  higher  way, 
A  finer  day; 


All  which  goes  for  pure  nothing  now 
You  have  discovered  the  truth 
That,  look  at  it  anyhow, 
One  may  not  tie  to  these  whims  of  youth, 
So  soon,  for  fact,  they  will  pass  away 
When  womanhood  has  its  day, 
Wisdom  her  way. 


Your  love  was  a  thing,  you  think,  to  die, 
Child-play,  something  premature. 
Little  mightier  than  your  sigh. 
Or  you  thought  you  loved,  yet  you  were  not  sure, 
While  now  you  fancy  you  have  the  truth, 
That  love  will  outgrow  its  youth 
And  itself,  forsooth ! 


I 


To  Such  a  Wife  17 

"So,"  said  you,  "if  I  do  not  love 
My  life-mate,  one  proper  thing 
And  likewise  easy  enough 
Is  to  leave  him — no  whimpering 
Nor  back  thought,"  so  you  set  your  mind 
One  day  cold  and  hard  inclined 
To  drop  him  behind. 


But  what  was  to  pay,  my  sweet  wise  wife, 
Or  what  was  to  learn,  by  chance, 
Soon  as  you  thought  of  his  life. 
His  love  and  the  solemn  circumstance 
Of  leaving  him  alone  in  his  place, 
Never  more  to  share  your  grace. 
To  hold  your  face? 


What  now  was  to  think  or  to  do. 
Of  noble  best  purpose  what. 
When  all  was  ready  for  you 
To  leave  him  so,  yet  your  heart  would  not? 
What  could  have  held  you  back  by  the  hour 
But  love  of  a  wider  dower, 
Deeper  power? 


Not  love  as  once  the  old  love  was 
When  you  were  younger,  perhaps, 
Or  you  loved  without  a  cause, 
For  love  has  a  thousand  tricks  and  traps, 
Catches  you,  lets  you  go  again, 
Knows  how  power  comes  of  pain, 
And  the  meaning  is  plain : 


i8  To  Such  a  Wife 

You  shall  not  escape  from  what  is  best, 

And  noblest  is  best  each  day; 

So  are  you  put  to  the  test 

To  see  if  your  noblest  shall  have  its  wa}^ 

The  mighty  best  of  you — there  's  the  thing 

Makes  for  superhumaning, 

There  's  the  love  I  sing ! 

Is  he  not  kind  and  foremost-true, 
This  mate  of  yours,  and  his  life 
Wholly  highly  given  to  you 
By  heart  and  soul  in  his  street  of  strife, 
His  best  he  could  think  or  do 
To  tower  to,  to  hope  for  too, 
And  all  for  you? 

There  's  the  high  Beauty  of  your  man, 
While  who  is  there  lives  and  breathes 
Loves  not  Beauty  more  than 
Those  sweets  for  which  he  fingers  and  teethes, 
Loves  not  all  Beauty  first,  all  in  spite 
Of  whim  or  any  gain  or  might. 
By  rule  of  right? 

So  I  say,  'though  you  reck  not  what. 
So  I  tell  how,  in  spite  of  you. 
Whether  you  know  it  or  not. 
You  love  your  man  who  is  kind  and  true ! 


ONE  MAN 


Hog-ugly  was  this  man  I  knew  once, 

Before  I  knew  him  for  what  he  was, 
His  Hfe  one  kind  of  silent  pause — 

Hobbled  like  a  bunch  of  stunts; 
"Snaffled"  the  town-boys  named  him, 

So  much  hard  times  had  tamed  him— 
Nose  like  a  toad-horn,  so  little  of  him 

To  look  at  was  worth  the  seeing, 
Such  a  loose-cut  curious  being 

The  world  seemed  all  above  him, 
None  to  follow,  none  to  love  him. 

Which  one  would  certainly  say 
Of  his  pufiE-muffin  look  and  walrus-way. 


II 


None  seemed  to  know  of  him  who  he  was — 
Always  his  way  by  some  lonesome  street 

He  would  take,  yet  for  never  cause 
One  could  guess — always  complete 

Was  the  mystery  was  hung  about  him 
As  men  would  shuffle  to  dodge  and  doubt  him. 

19 


20  One  Man 


III 


One  thing  odd  about  him  was  this, 

More  than  all  others:  close  to  his  heels 
A  dog  or  two  would  follow  to  kiss 

His  footsteps  as  if  they  were  seals 
Of  fortune — so  one  day  I  said : 

More  is  this  man  than  heels  and  head, 
Somewhat  is  of  him  which  hopes  and  feels; 

I  '11  follow  his  compass  of  toes, 
Watch  how  he  sneaks  to  where  he  goes, 

Know  what  he  does,  which  nobody  knows. 


IV 


Over  beyond  the  town  you  cross 

A  meadow,  then  a  ditch, 
Into  a  field  of  pauper-haws 

To  where  the  country  takes  a  pitch 
Through  one  thicket  of  Titan-trees, 

One  forest-edge  by  a  strip  of  river 
Which  never  moved  a  lip  to  quiver 

As  far  through  the  trees  one  could  see 
Keen  sunlight  strike  like  an  arrow, 

Each  leaf  dance  the  dance  of  a  bee, 
Then  droop  to  flutter  like  a  sparrow 

Struck  by  the  sting  of  any  arrow. 


Into  the  forest  my  man  stalks, 
His  two  dogs  there  at  his  heels — 

I  watch  him  as  on  he  walks, 

I  wonder  what  he  thinks  and  feels. 


One  Man  21 

He  alone  in  the  world  for  not 

A  neighbor  to  pass  him  a  thought, 
To  say  him:  "This  is  an  ugly  day, 

But  you  take  heart,  never  you  mind, 
God  is  more  than  a  dish  of  clay. 

Soul  is  king  and  high-inclined 
And  you  shall  come  to  your  own  one  day." 

On  he  totters  from  tree  to  tree, 
Each  tree  a  friend  to  look  him  steady, 

Pass  a  hand  to  him  strong  and  ready 
And  full  of  promise  of  more  to  be. 


VI 


On  he  totters,  noon  is  on. 

His  world  he  has  left  behind  him, 
An  ugly  thought,  may  be,  is  gone, 

Nothing  of  the  town  to  mind  him 
He  's  excommunicate,  cut  ofif 

From  what  the  world  thinks  world  enough 
To  glut  a  man,  fill  his  soul, 

As  if  spirit  has  any  whole, 
Makes  any  ending,  mounts  any  goal! 


VII 


His  was  such  hungry  hunted  look — 

Could  it  be  his  way  he  took 
To  live  aside,  never  mingle 

With  the  cheap  jump  and  jingle 
Of  the  world,  or  had  the  world  left  him 

Straightway  because  nature  bereft  him 


22  One  Man 

Of  iris  and  jcssamy-vine 

So  he  should  pink  and  orange  shine, 
Who  should  say?     Albeit  I  followed 

Where  forest  folded  in  and  swallowed 
A  day  like  a  yellow  grape, 

Yet  never  crimsoned  at  the  rape. 


VIII 

Of  a  sudden  I  saw  he  stopped — 

Out  before  him  his  look  was  dreary, 
His  way  underneath  him  weary 

Now  the  underbrush  had  mopped 
His  path  up — down  there  he  sat 

In  one  little  angle-plat 
For  gazing  among  his  trees 

To  wish  he  might  be  one  of  these 
High-handed,  pearl-banded  trees 

To  poke  his  head  up  skyward, 
Never  know  mock  or  byword, 

Handsome  in  the  lock  and  limb, 
Fingers  to  reach  for  Seraphim 

Of  light  and  space  and  Beauty 
Above  trough-life,  belly-booty — 

Just  to  be  as  one  of  these 
Handsome-handed  music- trees 

Full  of  little  lofty  glees 
To  whisper  secrets  to  the  breeze. 

To  never  let  the  sumbeams  pass, 
To  sprinkle  pictures  in  the  grass — 

Just  to  be  the  like  of  them 
From  the  under-dike  of  them 

To  each  high-pointing  spike  of  them ! 


One  Man  23 


IX 


Down  he  sat,  now  noon  was  high — 

This  much  of  him  always  was  known, 
Never  yet  was  he  alone, 

For  there  at  his  elbow  by 
His  two  dogs  were  in  touch  with  him — 

How  they  leaped  and  bounded 
As  if  their  hearts  were  hounded 

By  strong  love  to  make  much  of  him, 
Now  at  his  shoulder  and  neck, 

Now  at  his  lip  and  cheek, 
Nothing  to  hold  them  in  check 

— Oh  if  their  tongues  could  speak! — 
Over  his  lap  by  a  leap, 

Over  his  head  at  a  dart. 
Into  his  lap  in  a  heap 

Of  wonderful  wild  true  heart 
To  look  at  him  such  a  look, 

To  say  to  him  such  a  soul 
As  stars  in  my  meadow-brook, 

Sweet  in  my  clover-bowl ! 


Just  the  one  bread-loaf,  enough  for  two. 

Never  enough  for  three  was  there, 
Yet  he  the  same  way  generous-true. 

So  much  heart  in  him  to  spare. 
Eager  to  give  his  dogs  his  share. 

Yet  for  want  of  warmth  grew  pale 
As  noon  does  if  sunbeams  fail, 

So  took  to  picking  new  wild  cherry, 
Any  kind  of  shrub  or  berry 


24  One  Man 

To  hold  him  together  awhile — 
Who  knows  when  any  Heaven  may  smile? 


XI 


Never  he  got  sight  of  me, 

I  behind  this  or  another  tree 
Where  I  could  keep  view  of  him  to  see 

The  nobleman  in  him,  superlative  heart, 
His  fearlessness,  his  little  thinking 

Of  himself,  his  never  shrinking 
From  what  is  soul-most  great, 

Bread  for  his  dogs  and  he  could  wait, 
As  too  how  plain  to  be  seen 

Their  love  of  him,  which  he  well  knew 
Would  wait  and  starve  and  die  for  him  too 

If  need  was  and  they  only  knew — 
The  great  man,  yet  so  little  of  him 

Your  world  thinks  worth  sticking  to. 
Cuticle,  toe-peak,  ormolu. 

There  was  none  to  think  to  love  him 
As  there  he  turned  to  his  gentle  trees 

To  get  the  whisper  of  one  of  these, 
One  voice  of  God  in  such  lonely  breeze. 

XII 

Now  was  I  softly  behind  him, 
Time  was  come  to  unblind  him, 

To  let  him  know  I  was  there 

With  my  thought  of  him  and  my  care 

In  the  forest-oak  air. 

Tapped  I  gently  at  his  shoulder. 

Grew  such  sudden  handful  bolder 


One  Man       *  25 

That  when  he  turned  I  offered  him  my  hand 
He  took  like  he  were  subject  to  command, 

As  there,  each  looking  to  each,  we  stood 
In  touch  in  the  willow  and  mushroom  wood, 

I  to  look  to  him  to  see 
Such  high-thoughted  sublimity 

Of  soul,  of  heartfulness  in  his  eyes 
Beyond  what  is  worldly-wisdom-wise 

As  never  was  seen  before, 
I  venture,  while  by  all  the  more 

I  looked  him  through  and  through, 
His  was  the  kindest  look  and  true. 

Blue  eyes  as  deepest  heaven  is  blue. 

XIII 

Hand  in  hand — and  now  he  could  see 

Honestness  and  the  friend  in  me 
To  trust  to,  I  was  outspoken, 

One  wide  way  to  his  heart  was  broken 
As  I  now  to  tell  him  began: 

"For  the  life  of  me  I  have  been  looking 
Once  in  the  world  to  find  a  man. 

Not  here  where  the  king-lark  is  juking, 
Where  tree-swallows  take  to  their  nest. 

But  over  in  yonder  thickened  town 
Where  man  against  man,  king  or  clown. 

Plays  mastiff  to  smash  his  brother  down. 
Never  to  do  his  coronal  best — 

Yet  here  among  your  pulpit-trees 
Where  you  hang  to  the  leaves  of  glees 

By  another  soul,  by  a  nobler  plan, 
I  followed  and  I  found  my  man. 

I  know  not  who  you  may  be, 


26  One  Man 

Only  I  know  what  you  arc, 

Part  of  one  true  eternity 
Out  of  the  world,  like  a  single  star. 

To  throw  your  light,  be  you  never  so  far, 
So  drew  me  to  you — never  word 

You  uttered  and  I  ever  heard — 
Only  where  the  philomel  stirred 

To  wash  his  wings  in  sun. 
Where  ground-robin  and  arbutus  run 

Was  your  king-spot,  your  one  way 
You  left  the  world  behind  each  day — 

Yet  has  the  world  such  need  of  you, 
One  man  who  shall  dare  to  do 

His  true-most  for  never  fear 
Of  what  may  come  to  him  now  and  here — 

To  dare  to  speak  forth  and  to  do 
So  all  men  may  see  and  follow  you!" 

XIV 

Straightway  there  in  the  forest 

He  built  me  a  bower. 
Thought  and  fingers  of  a  florist 

To  gather  each  perfect  forest  flower, 
Dew-bells  for  diamond-eyes. 

Pink  pyrethrum,  or  any  red 
Woodrose  knotted  in  edelweiss 

And  laurel  to  circle  my  head 
For  love  of  me,  such  love  of  me 

He  scarce  could  make  enough  of  me 
As  on  he  went  building  his  bower 

Of  every  vine  and  salmon  flower 
There  at  his  feet  to  capture, 

I  all  love  of  him  and  such  rapture 


One  Man  27 

As  any  girl  knows  when  she  knows 

A  great  man  loves  her — I  took  his  rose, 
As  there  in  his  bower  of  palms 

And  perfume  of  elegant  forest  charms 
He  had  me  fastened  in  his  arms 

For  never  thought  which  was  spoken, 
Never  once  was  the  silence  broken 

Save  by  one  flute-lark  overhead 
As  we  listened  and  I  thought  he  said: 

Oh,  well  for  the  world  when  such  are  wed! 


XV 


A  word  to  you  girls  by  one  who  knows: 
Judge  not  a  man  by  his  toes  and  nose. 

By  the  thing  he  does,  by  the  way  he  goes- 
Have  him  for  what  he  is, 

Greatness  in  him — you  shall  not  miss 
Nor  gather  of  him  more  than  this, 

Just  the  sweet  spirit  which  is  his. 


TRICKLY  LE  BON  POT 

A  LITTLE  copper  knuckle  on  his  nose — 

You  would  think, 
To  watch  him  'twixt  the  melons  and  the  sink, 
See  him  chuckle,  wag  his  toes. 
Bed  his  belly  in  the  sun, 
Count  the  nibbles  in  a  bun, 
You  would  think 

Of  the  little  yellow  tassel  at  his  chin — 

You  would  hold, 
To  see  him  eye  it,  dye  it  loud  as  gold, 
Cock  an  ear  up  for  a  fin, 
Tie  a  ribbon  to  his  shoe. 
Clap  a  nappy  look  at  you. 
You  would  hold. 

As  he  took  his  toppy  gait  across  the  street, 

You  'd  conclude 
If  there  were  any  much  of  him  for  good, 
'T  was  a  triumph  of  the  feet, 
A  shining  of  the  shin 
As  a  pickerel  plays  his  fin. 
You  'd  conclude 

From  the  little  choppy  giggle  at  his  chin, 

You  'd  believe 
He  surely  had  a  wisdom  up  his  sleeve 
Where  the  oracles  begin, 
28 


Trickly  Ic  bon  Pot  29 

Just  a  look  to  let  you  think 
He  was  brimming  to  the  brink, 
You  'd  believe, 

If  you  saw  what  wonder- way  he  took  to  spit. 

You  would  judge 
He  cherished  nothing  which  he  would  begrudge, 
He  so  liberal  of  it. 
Such  open-hearted  show, 
"Mere  trifle,  don't  you  know," 
You  would  judge. 

To  watch  him  fetch  an  angle  in  the  sun. 

You  would  say. 
To  see  the  monstrous  sputteriy  display. 
That  an  end  of  thought  was  run. 
That  no  human  trueman  mood 
Could  pitch  higher  than  he  stood, 
You  would  say 

There  was  gism  in  him  of  conspicuous  poise, 

You  would  think 
Fortune  set  the  compass  by  his  wink, 
Cocked  an  ear  up  to  his  noise — 
As  for  aught  that  he  could  do 
For  love  of  truth  or  you, 
You  would  think? — 


PYRRHA 


Be  perfect  as  God,  my  friend! 

Don't  whimper  about  it! 
Your  mighty  means  to  one  mighty  end, 

For  how  will  you  doubt  it 
To  look  at  Beauty?     All  you  see 

Is  Beauty,  or  strives  to  be. 
I  may  not  look  to  a  star 

But  it  looks  to  me  from  endless  far 
Eye-flash  of  prune  and  cinnabar; 

I  may  not  look  to  a  grain 
Of  snow,  corpuscle  of  rain 

But  I  have  it  again. 
The  wheel-about  of  orange  fire 

In  violet  attire! 
Or  there  is  the  peat- worm's  hide, 

Lavender  on  either  side, 
Stripings  of  bottle-green. 

Rings  of  Alderney  between, 
And  I  thought  him  nothing  or  small. 

His  velvet  curtain  over  him  all! 
Each  sun  to  his  thousand  daughters, 

Swallows  to  their  zenith-quarters. 
Moon-dance  in  the  waltzing  waters — 

Did  you  think  otherly  of  soul? 
But  look  to  the  rounded  whole 
30 


Py  rrha  3 1 

Of  what  in  spaces  I  see 
Climbing  to  more  sublimity: 

Is  it  not  factfully  true 
The  Beauty  of  it  through  and  through 

Leaps  there  in  the  soul  in  you? 
Is  Beauty  not  come  to  stay 

Through  the  change-about  of  cla3'? 
Worlds  to  atoms  shift  their  places, 

Make  new  beds  and  old  faces! 
On  with  the  shift,  and  it  ceases  never, 

Yet  are  the  blue  and  gold  there  forever ! 

You  shall  shift  into  dust  and  wind — 

Is,  then,  the  Beauty  of  you, 
The  what  you  are,  the  thing  you  do, 

The  masterfulness  of  truth  you  pinned, 
Made  of  glass  to  be  whipped  in  two. 

And  dust  and  wind  just  the  soul  of  you  ? 
Mark  how  what  endures 

Is  the  Beauty  of  things. 
One  endless  blue  far  which  allures, 

Yonder  pink  light  in  Leo's  wings 
To  not  dwindle  and  not  quit — 

Pin  your  hold  to  the  Beauty  in  it 
To  mark  how  his  pink  light  will  last 

When  Leo  is  a  thing  of  the  past! 


II 


Lived  there  once  a  king 

In  Lesbos  so  long  ago 
'T  is  most  too  much  to  be  reckoning 

By  what  I  know. 


32  Pyrrha 

Such  pompous  grasping  king, 
Such  a  way  he  had, 

His  one-man  way  of  governing 
By  what  was  bad. 

People  thought  him  mad. 

A  Pelasgian  King, 

And  by  what  of  him  I  know, 
He  made  no  moment  of  smothering 

His  heart  out  so 
He  could  do  a  thing  for  just 

His  greed  of  gain  and  lust. 
The  wolf  in  him,  for  he  could  bite 

His  way  for  spite. 
Nor  mattered  wrong  or  right. 


Gorgeous  was  his  court. 

Cloth  of  gold,  porphyry  piles, 
Girls  of  a  tournure  cunningly  wrought 

As  their  crop  of  smiles 
For  his  pleasure,  each  kilt 

To  the  knees  was  gilt 
As  they  coiled  and  ogled  and  sang 

Till  his  castle  rang 
Half  a  parasang. 

Men  in  iron  stood 

Just  for  their  power  to  undo 
Whatever  should  go  against  his  mood — 

How  well  he  knew 
How  power  must  wear  a  charm 

To  be  safe  from  harm, 


Pyrrha  33 


While  so  he  hedged  him  about 

By  soldier  and  scout 
To  bolt  the  sly  world  out. 

Soon  he  took  to  war 

For  one  thing  noble  to  do ; 

Epirus  was  what  he  hungered  for, 
Thought  well  he  knew 

That  to  crumble  and  kill 
By  stroke  of  skill 

Must  make  things  crumble  to  his  will- 
So  war  was  declared, 

Nor  a  man  to  be  spared. 

How  men  do  blunder, 

Think  to  make  their  mighty  way 
By  the  genius  of  rape  and  plunder 

And  nought  to  pay. 
Theirs  just  booty  and  loot, 

The  tramp  of  the  brute. 
As  if  there  went  no  power  to  play 

At  Right,  make  for  best. 
Grow  the  love-burdened  breast ! 

Straight  on  went  his  war, 

Men  were  killed  like  apple-flies 
For  what  he  pallored  and  thirsted  for, 

One  vaster  prize 
Of  more  people  and  land 

In  his  iron  hand, 
As  if  to  dominate  by  pinch. 

Hold  a  nation  in  his  clinch 
Could  make  him  great  an  inch ! 


34  Pyrrha 

Just  a  year  was  by ; 

Epirots  and  Pclasgians  fought 
Till  all  seemed  ready  to  stab  and  die 

Nor  take  a  thought 
Of  thousands  dead  and  gone 

Just  to  carry  on 
A  king  to  power  so  he  might  say 

He  had  more  power  than  they, 
Power  to  cut  and  slay. 

One  day  late  of  June 

Came  a  messenger  to  speak 
For  peace — one  sweet  girl  brought  the  boon, 

One  Princess  meek, 
First  daughter  of  the  King, 

And  her  following 
Six  maids  of  honor — flowers  they  brought. 

Peace  they  sought 
And  an  end  of  plot. 

Beautiful  she  was, 

Pyrrha,  daughter  of  the  King 
Of  Epirus — there  she  wore  a  ring 

Of  chrysoprase 
Which  she  gave  the  King 

Of  Lesbos  for  truce. 
Gave  him  of  all  her  country  to  choose 

His  province  to  have  and  to  hold 
With  its  trunk  of  gold. 

Answered  her  the  King : 

"Your  whole  country  I  will  take! 
•  You,  too,  I  want  for  wife — this  ring 

My  pledge  I  make 


Pyrrha  35 


To  do  the  thing  I  say 

Or  fall  by  the  way! 
So  take  a  thought  of  it  to  see 

If  you  will  humor  me 
So  this  thing  shall  be ! 

"Be  my  wife  this  night, 

Tell  me  your  great  father's  plans, 
What  are  his  secrets,  how  he  will  fight, 

Who  are  his  clans. 
And  you  shall  straight  be  Queen 

Of  the  world  between, 
Queen  of  two  peoples  in  place  of  one, 

For  as  I  suck  the  sun 
The  thing  shall  be  done. 

"Refuse  me  and  you  die, 

You  die  the  death  of  a  dog; 
For  who  is  there  born  greater  than  I, 

My  soul  agog 
With  want,  my  want  of  you. 

Of  your  kingdom  too. 
So  who  shall  deny  me  my  right 

Since  I  have  the  might, 
Have  the  hand  to  smite?" 

"Slay  me.  Sire,"  she  said, 

Fling  me  to  your  dogs  to  eat ! 
Rather  a  thousand  times  I  were  dead 

Than  I  live  to  meet 
Such  wish  as  in  you  crawls. 

Play  my  father  false, 
Betray  my  people  to  your  keep 

For  you  to  crush  and  reap — 
Rather  would  I  sleep!" 


36  Pyrrha 

"Away  with  her"  he  said; 

' '  Let  her  be  hamshackled  fast ! 
Away  to  the  block,  chop  oil  her  head 

Ere  day  be  past! 
Now  shall  she  learn  a  thing, 

Learn  a  mighty  king 
Is  not  to  be  mocked  in  his  pride. 

To  be  jostled  aside 
If  he  seek  a  bride!" 


This  king's  only  son, 

He  who  was  his  prided  heir, 
Stood  by  to  see  what  was  being  done, 

Saw  she  was  fair 
As  any  flower  of  France, 

Saw  now  was  his  chance 
For  being  man  to  play  high  and  true — 

There  he  loved  her  too ! 


The  Beauty  of  her. 

All  her  great  spirit  and  heart. 
And  how  should  any  man  not  love  her. 

Whine  about  what  's  to  come, 
Stand  foolsome  and  dumb, 

And  she  there,  as  this  June  wind  saith, 
To  draw  her  champak  breath 

For  a  drink  of  death? 

"To  the  block!"  said  he; 

"There  's  my  place,  I  to  find  way 
To  save  her — this  thing  shall  not  be, 

A  hand  to  slay 


Pyrrha  3  7 


The  violet!     To  the  block 

Her  chains  to  unlock, 
I  there  for  man  to  set  her  free 

By  the  love  in  me, 
By  the  powers  that  be!" 

Nor  sooner  said 

Than  he  was  up  to  demand 
His  right  to  number  her  with  the  dead 

By  his  own  hand: 
"Give  me  your  axe  and  mask 

Is  all  I  ask, 
Your  mantle  too,  I  to  your  task, 

I  that  can  strike  to  kill 
To  do  my  father's  will ! 

"Your  axe  and  mask — do  you 

Lock  me  in  her  prison  tower! 
There  you  may  see  how  I  shall  be  true, 

By  all  my  power. 
To  hand  her  soul  to  God, 

Her  ribs  to  the  sod! 
If  I  do  not  as  I  say. 

If  I  falter  by  the  way, 
Then  is  my  head  to  pay!" 

Alone  in  her  tower 

Waited  she  now  to  be  killed; 
The  style  was  on  the  stroke  of  the  hour, 

Each  wind  was  stilled, 
As  if  the  heaven  held  breath 

To  see  her  put  to  death, 
And  she  so  fair  as  cloud-lands  lie 

In  an  evening  sky 
Just  before  they  die. 


38  Pyrrha 


Sooner  now  than  thought, 

Face  in  mask,  axe  in  hand 
As  if  to  strike  to  kill  on  the  spot, 

Do  the  King's  command. 
Comes  the  Prince,  his  place 

At  the  block,  his  face 
In  iron,  and  straight  there  he  stood 

In  his  headsman's  hood 
As  your  headsman  would. 

Now  she  kneels  to  pray, 

Her  last  bosomful  of  breath. 
Her  last  thought  of  a  thing  to  say 

Before  her  death, 
As  there  she  lays  her  head 

To  count  with  the  dead, 
Nor  flinch  nor  murmur  manifest — 

She  is  put  to  the  test 
And  has  done  her  best. 

Quick  his  mask  is  off! 

A  King's  son,  a  Prince  stands  now 
At  her  side  to  tell  the  meaning  of 

Such  his  gentle  bow 
And  kind  touch  and  mild  eye 

And  his  April  sigh. 
To  tell  her  his  love,  how  his  heart 

Took  her  side  and  part 
From  the  very  start. 

"All  I  want  is  you! 

My  whole  heart  I  give  in  turn 
To  be  forever  masterly  true 

As  sun-stars  burn 
In  the  brow  of  heaven ; 


Pyrrha  39 

Aye,  to  die  even 
To  prove  you  my  love,  to  outbrave 

Death,  that  I  may  save 
You  from  your  young  grave. 

"To  the  King!     Once  there. 

He  shall  learn  too  how  you  vie 
With  what  in  spirit  is  high  and  fair 

As  yonder  sky ! 
Up  now  and  away 

To  the  King,  I  say. 
He  to  give  you  your  life,  or  I 

To  draw  my  last  sigh, 
Take  my  turn  to  die!" 

Nor  sooner  said 

Than  they  stood  before  the  King, 
The  Prince  prepared  to  forfeit  his  head 

For  his  treasoning. 
To  ask  her  life,  to  plead 

That  she  should  be  freed. 
To  stay  such  death,  to  point  the  King 

The  low  loathsome  sting 
And  wrong  of  the  thing. 

Soon  as  he  came  to  speak 

Of  love,  told  the  Crown  his  love, 
Blood  was  up  to  the  King's  each  cheek, 

Such  word  was  enough. 
As  past  all  bounds  the  King 

Fetched  his  sword  one  swing 
Of  death — now  was  an  end  of  words 

As  sire  and  son  crossed  swords 
At  their  council  boards! 


40  Pyrrha 


Fierce  they  fought  to  kill, 

Our  Prince  to  defend  her  life. 
Each  one  the  other's  soul  to  spill 

By  mighty  strife 
Till  blood  flew  wild  in  air, 

Pelted  the  wall-beams  where 
Gold  was  knit  into  lilac  thread — 

One  thrust  through  the  head 
And  the  King  was  dead! — 

Long  live  the  King! 

Prince  no  more,  but  King  instead 
By  force  of  all  righteous  reckoning, 

When  truth  is  said, 
This  truth,  that  men  must  glue 

To  the  thing  they  do, 
Nor  lives  there  the  Savior  to  save 

Man  from  his  merited  glave, 
Hell-hearts  from  their  grave. 

Did  she  not  love  him  then 

As  there  she  clung  to  his  heart 
For  her  noblemost  man  among  men 

To  do  his  part 
For  love  of  what  is  right 

In  his  lion  sight? 
Love  is  there,  both  her  love  and  his, 

True  as  each  star-beam  is, 
And  the  upshot  this: 

One  savage  king  goes  down, 

A  son  steps  in  to  take  his  place, 

To  win  a  bride,  to  wear  a  crown. 
To  bless  his  race 

By  an  end  of  war. 


Pyrrha  41 


By  one  gentler  law 
Than  seeks  to  crush  to  win  a  thing 

By  rape  and  murdering, 
Though  he  be  a  king. 

And  she  now  for  Queen 

Of  her  own  country  and  his, 
Never  sword  to  hang  between. 

Her  God-law  this: 
If  you  would  conquer  through 

To  the  end  in  view, 
You  shall  put  you  to  any  test, 

Un weaken,  bare  your  breast, 
Do  your  best. 


SUMMER  DAYS 

I 
Summer  days, 
Sunbeam  flaxen  days, 
Always  coming  and  going 
So  men  may  be  guessing  and  growing, 
Never  to  capture  the  small  end  of  knowing, 
Nudge  at  me  now  with  your  elbow-light, 
Soul  is  there,  though  out  of  sight! 
I  know  your  cunning  ways, 
O  summer  days! 

II 

Morning  hours. 

Fresh  among  the  flowers 

Of  my  summer-scented  day, 

Oh,  tell  me  a  little  of  your  way 

You  take  all  heaven  in  the  hollow  of  a  hand 

While  I  may  hold  but  my  grain  of  sand! 

Lend  me  of  your  perfect  powers, 

Flower  among  the  flowers, 

O  morning  hours! 

Ill 

Afternoon 

Of  a  day  of  June, 
Have  a  way  with  you  to  be 
Just  a  little  more  in  touch  with  me 
To  hint  a  bit  of  what  I  would  be  knowing, 
42 


Summer  Days  43 

Your  trick  of  coming  so  and  going, 
How  you  keep  my  finch  in  tune, 
How  you  mock  the  moon, 

0  afternoon! 

IV 

Summer  day, 

Ambush  amber  day. 

So  much  of  me  glows  like  you 

Out  yonder  in  your  robin-egg  blue 

1  wonder  if  I  am  there  instead  of  you, 
Or  is  there  room  enough  for  us  two 
Where  my  sun-flies  sing  and  play, 
Dancing  their  life  away, 

O  summer  day! 


Summer  breath. 

Not  a  lisp  of  death 

You  whisper  among  the  leaves. 

Never  an  accent  whimpers  or  grieves; 

Always  your  long  deep  draught  of  locust  you  get, 

Or  the  upturned  lip  of  mignonette, 

As  there  your  whisper  whispereth 

There  shall  be  no  death, 

O  summer  breath ! 

VI 

Summer  night, 

Looking  dark  and  bright. 

Tell  me  of  her  who  is  gone. 

Of  her  whom  my  spirit  lived  upon; 

Show  me  once  more  one  look  of  her  perfect  face, 


44  Summer  Days 

The  star-soul  in  it  and  moonbeam  grace — 
Your  dark  to  show  me  her  bright 
Kind  eye  and  oversight, 

0  summer  night! 

VII 

Perfect  night, 

Not  a  flaw  in  sight, 

Give  me  of  your  power  to  go 

The  way  of  all  Beauty,  for  that  way  so 

1  see  her  steps,  like  the  orange  glow 
Of  stars,  to  follow  their  flight, 
Keep  eternity  in  sight, 

O  perfect  night! 


GLOXINIA 

Gloxinia  is  a  flower 
Grows  in  my  garden-spot,  tops  the  end 
Of  my  muscadine-bower — 
Once  there  came  a  child 
Looking  so  like  a  friend, 
Like  a  tiny  meadow-flower, 
Cooed  at  me  and  smiled. 
Then  straight  off  to  my  garden-spot  flew, 
Gathered  gloxinia,  red  and  blue. 

Then  back  to  me  and  said : 
Which  will  you  have,  the  blue  or  the  red? 

There  I  looked  into  the  child's  eyes 
To  see  a  blue  wonderful  surprise 

That  I  should  stop  to  think. 
Keep  looking  at  my  meadow-pink 

Till  now  I  scarce  could  see, 
For  looking  at  her  so. 
Her  flowers  she  held  up  to  me 
Like  her  own  gloxinia-glow, 
As  there  I  caught  her  to  me  and  said: 
You  too  are  perfect  blue  and  red, 
Oh,  give  me  yourself  instead! 

My  perfect  flower  never  died 

Because  I  kept  it  close  inside 

Where  love  which  is  closest  loves  to  hide — 
Should  there  be  much  or  little  meant, 

45 


46  Gloxinia 

By  just  one  such  garden  incident, 

'T  is  much  to  me — she  put  her  face 

Forever  in  my  picture-place — 

Two  small  pink  hands  which  tried  once  to  speak 
Still  drum  their  dreams  against  my  cheek — 
Look,  if  you  will,  to  see 

How  much  a  thought  of  it  meant  to  me! 

Soon,  how  soon  she  grew 
The  woman — how  truly  too 

She  kept  her  child-red  and  human  blue, 
And  I  most  past  and  gone 
For  such  cheek-bright  girl  to  look  upon — 
So,  too,  too  well  I  knew  how  she 
So  fully  had  forgotten  me 
As  if  I  never  were  born — 

There  's  life,  I  thought — there  's  the  rub 
Makes  life  just  mock  and  rubadub. 
So  soon  we  are  lost  and  gone! 

Always  I  longed  to  speak. 

If  haply  I  might  mind  her 
Of  that  one  far-off  flower-week, 

One  garden-spot  she  left  behind  her — 
So  are  we  wont  to  think 
Of  those  we  tie  to  by  every  knot. 

How  they,  in  turn,  will  forget  us  not, 
Will  hold  to  us  by  the  counter-link — 

What  use  that  I  now  should  think 
She  would  remember  such  long  ago? — 

She  would  not  know,  she  would  not  know! 

It  was  one  August  afternoon. 

Each  harvest-fly  was  in  tune 
For  sun-dance  in  rigadoon. 


Gloxinia  47 

Now  I  stood  watching  my  maple-twig 
Rock  a  robin  to  sleep, 
Plucked  at  a  yellow  tulip  sprig 
Holding  one  blossom  in  its  keep — 
I  thought  how  the  sky  is  dumb  for  vain, 
Holds  me  for  life  in  doubt, 
Mocks  me  by  fling  and  pout 
Now  my  flower  could  never  come  again. 

Always  so  I  thought  of  her. 

My  child  once  with  her  gentle  tap 
At  my  heart,  her  pretty  off-hand  hap 

And  flower-face,  her  little  stir 
For  a  June  breeze  so  at  my  cheek. 

Like  the  sweet  Heaven  were  trying  to  speak — 
This  way  I  took  to  ponder: 

She  so  young,  I  so  beyond  her 
As  only  to  hope  in  vain 

How,  maybe,  she  might  one  day  wonder 
If  I  would  look  in  her  heart  again, 

When — sudden  as  any  thought, 

I  listened,  knew  I  caught 
Such  two  soft  steps  near  me,  just  behind. 

As  might  have  been  whispers  of  wind — 
Next  was  one  silverly  voice 

Sent  my  heart  leaping  like  jumps  of  joys : 
"You  will  not  remember  them. 

These  flowers — once  they  had  a  stem, 
Once  they  were  red  and  blue. 

Wide-spread  and  tufted  too, 
Once  I  offered  them  to  you! 

"Will  you  not  have  them  now, 

Such  long  years  they  kept  their  vow 


48  Gloxinia 

To  come  to  you  some  day,  somehow? "- 

There  I  looked  into  the  same  eyes, 
More  was  there  now  than  just  surprise 

That  I  should  keep  looking  so 
Where  soul  chokes  in  one  overflow 

Of  eyes  of  such  human  blue, 
So  wonderfully  lasting  true 

I  was  fastened  there  as  I  only  said: 
"Oh,  give  me  yourself  instead!" 


NO  MAN'S  FRIEND 

Get  under  his  bull-heel 

If  you  would  up  to  the  full  feel 
His  pinch, 

Such  a  man  as  once  I  knew 
Liked  to  do  his  worst  for  you 

To  see  you  flinch ! 
I  look,  while  every  now  and  then 

I  see  the  snapping  lynx  in  men! 

See  such  a  man  how  he  tries  to  cut 

The  ground  from  under  you, 
While  fact  is  and  wonder  too 

He  sees  not,  more  than  a  mariput, 
How,  anyhow  he  may  slash  to  cut. 

Do  his  devilish  best  to  do 
His  very  devilish  worst  for  you. 

He  only  chops  himself  in  two! 

My  Gladys  is  a  girl  I  know 

Thinks  of  me  so 
'T  were  more  than  folly  he  should  try 

To  catch  her  eye, 
Small  use  that  he  try  her  heart 

By  his  trappy  art 
To  pull  her  away  from  me 

For  love  or  deviltry. 
4  49 


50  No  Man's  Friend 

Yet  here  is  your  sort  of  man 

Thinks  he  has  the  master  plan 
By  which  to  trick  as  he  shall  choose, 

Small  matter  you,  if  you  win  or  lose! 
One  kind  of  man  who  likes  to  think 

Right  is  tricked  by  puff  and  wink ! 
Watch  him  thresh  his  wings  to  a  blot 

Like  flies  trapped  in  a  treacle-pot ! 

Partners  were  we, 

I  and  he, 
To  hew  down  pine  or  tamarack, 

Half  to  have  our  guineas  back, 
Half  for  the  profit 

And  lordliness  of  it — 
So  for  sake  of  such  outcome  clear 

We  were  now  partners  just  a  year. 

Knowledge  was  mine  of  how  to  do 

The  best  thing  best. 
Of  each  way  to  slash  or  hew 

Cow-oak  as  it  should  be  drest 
For  market  for  very  best. 

While  as  for  him,  his  whole  hold 
Was  on  his  gold. 

To  know  how  worlds  are  bought  and  sold. 

My  wisdom  he  must  have  for  gain. 

Or  his  guineas  were  in  vain; 
His  gold  I  must  have,  else  I 

Could  not  match  him  as  man  to  man 
For  profit  on  the  partner-plan — 

That  way  was  it  he  made  bold 
To  lend  me  largely  of  his  gold 

To  give  me  foot  and  master-hold. 


No  Man's  Friend  51 

Things  in  the  year  went  well, 

There  was  profit  to  tell, 
Princely  luck  was  about, 

We  were  satisfied  in  and  out 
And  friends  too — leastwise  I  dreamed 

He  was  noble  as  he  seemed. 
Could  not  have  played  me  untrue, 

Deep  demon  too. 

How  perfectly  a  man  mad  is 

To  think  he  prospers  his  way 
Of  stealing  from  you  your  Gladys, 

To  think  he  has  nought  to  pay 
But  joy  to  have  done  you  his  worst, 

And  not  a  thought  how  the  thing  is  curst 
As  he  sails  on  to  boast  his  strut 

Like  a  ship  will  with  a  hole  in  her  gut. 

My  Gladys  was  joyful-fair, 

Held  hard  to  each  truth, 
Made  no  quarrel  with  her  care. 

Made  the  most  of  love  and  youth, 
Kept  her  whole  soul  for  me  in  sight, 

Bowed  to  one  Monarchy  of  Right — 
Yet  in  spite  of  such  sweetness  in  her 

This  wolf-hound  thought  to  trick  and  win  her. 

Bells  he  copied,  so  his  words 

Should  ring  like  flocks  of  garden-birds; 
Put  the  style-angle  to  each  joint. 

Brought  his  chin-brush  to  a  point, 
His  sermon  as  well. 

For  most  part  to  tell 
How  fine  he  was  and  proper  good 

As  not  another  could  be  or  would. 


52  No  Man's  Friend 

How  soon  he  saw  he  could  not  have  her 
By  chin-points,  thin  palaver, 
Saw  the  queen  in  her,  high  mind 

To  be  not  in  touch  with  his  condor-kind ! 
So  now  he  must  show  the  claw, 

Strike  at  righteousness  and  law, 
Brute  force  bring  to  his  cause 

To  show  the  snow-leopard  lynx  he  was! 

For  only  next  day  he  demanded 

I  pay  him,  as  I  owed,  in  full, 
I  undollared  and  short-handed — 

There  was  the  heel  of  the  bull ! 
Pay  I  must,  my  bond  to  the  letter. 

Else  I  was  shackled  in  his  fetter 
For  prisoner,  and  what  better, 

I  his  penniless  poor  debtor? 

I  in  ruin,  that  way  he  thought 

My  Gladys  was  to  be  caught, 
Made  to  give  up  her  hold 

Of  me,  to  take  him  for  his  gold 
And  power,  as  if  he  could  buy 

Love  such  as  hers  to  die! 
How  well  he  knew  his  best  hold 

Was  his  grip  of  gold! 

How  little  he  knew  of  love, 

Less  than  the  billing  dove! 
More  was  her  heart  than  ever  bound 

To  this  heart  which  she  had  found 
In  me,  while  the  more  he  struggled 

To  part  us,  tricked  and  juggled, 
And  all  was  said  and  done, 

There  were  we  the  more  mightily  one! 


No  Man's  Friend  53 

So  he  lost  her  and  lost  me 

By  his  leopardy! 
Nor  made  these  two  all  his  losses — 

How  certainly  one  conquering  cause  is 
Ancestor  of  many  losses ! 

For  now  he  was  minus  me 
With  my  sightedness  to  see 

Lumber- tricks  for  mastery ; 

Could  not  send  his  great  mill  cashing 

Shingles,  for  there  were  slashing 
And  chopping  to  be  cunningly  done 

And  he  no  knack  at  it  under  the  sun! 
In  just  a  year,  with  all  his  trying. 

Men  saw  his  profits  surely  dying! 
In  two  years  only,  to  a  day, 

More  debts  than  shingles — nothing  to  pay! 

Things  make  for  Right — 

There  's  your  fight! 
Nor  make  for  wrong, 

Save  for  an  hour 
To  build  men  strong 

To  aquire  Power 
By  their  fight 

To  come  right. 


SUFFICIT 

Make  a  sign  of  the  cross! 

What  is  it? 
Scratch  away  more  of  the  moss; 

"Sufficit"; 
Ah  me,  but  the  writing  is  old 

Under  the  mold, 
As  the  meaning  is  new 
And  grasses  lax 
At  their  hiding  of  facts 

Which  were  few 

Though  they  sleep 
Where  the  grave  is  shoal,  meaning  deep. 

Tear  more  grasses  away 

At  the  base; 
Get  what  dates  have  to  say 

Of  the  case: 
Thirteen  hundred  and  twenty-two 

Under  the  dew! 
Half  a  cross  at  the  top 
Of  a  Fleur-de-lis, 
Which  is  all  you  could  see — 

And  they  stop 

At  the  cross 
Who  would  dig  for  meaning  under  the  moss. 
54 


Sufficit  55 

Six  centuries  ago, 

Nearly  that, 
Where  mountain-peaks  grew  snow, 

Where  their  plat 
Laid  once  one  carpet  warmish  green 

The  lap  between 
Two  summits  left  and  right 
Which  shortened  up  the  sun, 
Trained  flowers  to  run, 

Men  to  fight. 

Lived  a  king 
Who  ruled  his  country  by  whip  and  sting. 

He  ruled  quite  alone 

To  his  whim; 
Bent  men  to  crawl  to  his  throne. 

Beg  of  him 
For  leave  to  marry,  leave  to  pray. 

To  work  or  play ; 
Men  and  children  he  knew, 
Knew  the  half  they  did 
From  bib  to  lid 

As  they  grew 

In  his  grace 
To  smirk  and  wince  at  his  red  dead  face. 

Armored  knights  fell  to  pray 

At  his  feet. 
All  for  some  love-lady  fay 

Proud  and  sweet. 
Nor  dared  they  to  ask  for  her  hand 

Without  his  command, 
As  they  bowed  to  dust 
In  their  steel  cold  chain  ' 


56  Sufficit 

At  a  dread  of  the  reign 

Of  his  lust, 

For  they  knew 
He  would  seize  the  girl  if  it  pleased  him  to. 

Two  alike  brother  knights 

And  twin-born, 
Who  pleaded  their  wrongs  and  rights 

To  his  scorn. 
Bowed  down  one  day  to  press  their  cause, 

And  the  story  was: 
They  had  both  made  their  way 
To  a  Princess'  heart, 
But  each  suitor  apart 

Day  and  day; 

Neither  knew 
The  other  was  pouring  his  heart  out  too. 

Being  wholly  alike, 

Face  and  frame, 
As  much  in  smile  and  glike 

As  in  name, 
She  never  once  knew  them  apart 

In  giving  her  heart, 
So  each  had  her  hand. 
Had  her  honest  word 
His  cause  should  be  heard 

By  command 

Of  the  king, 
Who  knew  first  best  how  to  settle  the  thing. 

"You  shall  fight,"  said  the  king, 

"  'Till  the  breath 
Of  one  ceases,  fight  the  thing 

To  the  death; 


Sufficit  57 

Whichever  survives,  on  my  life, 

Shall  have  her  for  wife; 
Whichever  refuses 
To  stab  like  a  man. 
Cut  to  kill  where  he  can, 

Or  chooses 

Not  to  fight, 
Shall  pay  for  the  farce  with  his  head  this  night." 

They  were  brothers,  were  twins. 

Cheek  by  jowl ; 
To  stab  to  death  with  steel  fins 

Would  be  foul. 
As  foul  as  his  word,  which  was  worse, 

Far  worse  than  his  curse ; 
If  they  fought  so  one  fell, 
What  pledge  could  they  name 
That  the  other  should  claim 

Her  as  well? 

While  beside. 
Who  would  kill  a  brother  to  win  a  bride? 

At  the  palace  that  night 

Was  a  ball; 
Old  and  young  danced  to  delight, 

King  and  all, 
'Till  revel  dragged  out  of  the  feast 

A  king  for  a  beast, 
A  man  matched  to  the  mire! 
Red  wine  in  gold  bowls. 
Like  blood  dipped  into  souls 

Made  of  fire. 

Gave  cause 
For  a  king  that  night  to  show  what  he  was! 


S8  Sufficit 

"Bring  them  here,  your  two  brats 

Of  one  gaze; 
They  shall  both  perish  like  rats 

In  a  blaze; 
If  kings  would  love,  then  no  man  weds! 

So  off  with  their  heads! 
She  will  do  me  a  while 
With  her  pheasant's  grace. 
Cheek  and  chin-dimpled  face 

And  young  smile; 

She  shall  know 
A  king  may  love  if  she  will  or  no!" 

The  three  lovers  meantime 

Took  to  horse. 
Struck  a  path  clean  through  the  thyme 

And  gorse. 
Over  mountain-shaft  shot  through  the  snow 

Like  an  arrow  and  bow, 
Into  valley  and  farm 
At  a  fire-bell's  pace 
With  their  lady  of  grace 

Brave  and  calm, 

'Till  they  stood 
Where  we  stand  now,  at  this  edge  of  the  wood. 

A  pale  moon  tumbled  red 

On  a  cloud, 
Half  like  a  blood-spattered  head 

In  a  shroud; 
Two  twin  stars,  straight  as  two  eyes, 

Looked  out  of  their  skies 
'Till  a  cloud  like  a  cup 
Cut  in  two,  dropping  lids 


Sufficit  59 

No  light  ever  thrids, 

Closed  them  up; 

There  was  death 
In  the  night-moon's  mist  where  they  drank  a  breath. 

Here  was  Fall  at  the  door 

To  knock  hard: 
Their  summer  should  dance  no  more 

On  the  sward; 
One  stab  of  frost  and  your  trees 

Show  fight  to  the  knees, 
Snap  back,  puff  red,  stretch  their  claws! — 
What  good  will  it  do 
And  they  face  one  or  two 

Of  God's  laws? 

Better  go 
By  a  cut  of  cold  than  melt  with  the  snow. 

All  the  law  is  severe 

At  its  best ; 
Love  shall  be  put,  tear  by  tear, 

To  a  test, 
Nor  find  a  way  upon  earth 

To  capture  its  worth, 
'Though  the  test  be  here. 
While  he  drops  your  prize 
Who  plays  victor  and  dies 

Without  fear; 

Who  would  miss 
A  last  breath  to  whisper  "A  man  was  this"? 

How  a  day  is  made  great 

By  its  end! 
Earth  ceases,  love  is  too  late 

To  contend: 


6o  Sufficit 

Beauty  comes  last  and  stands  first 

And  hell  do  its  worst! 
Who  will  venture  to  show 
A  path  to  a  flower 
With  a  sky  for  a  bower? 

And  below 

Or  above 
Is  it  not  all  Beauty  to  die  for  love? 

At  the  castle  this  night, 

Unconfined, 
Fierce  glee  struck  out  full  might 

At  the  wind; 
Red  revel  strutted,  with  spew  and  pitch, 

To  the  last  low  ditch ; 
Cups  and  beakers  of  gold 
Tipped  up,  leaned  in  touch, 
As  if  they,  too,  had  had  too  much 
To  uphold 
In  extremes, 
A  king  down  bellowing  in  his  drunken  dreams. 

And  just  here  at  this  edge 

Of  the  wood. 
Hand  locked  to  hand  for  love's  pledge, 

Here  they  stood. 
Two  oaks,  one  vine  about  both, 

Three  souls  and  one  oath; 
The  twin  stars  looked  out, 
Two  longing  wide  eyes 
In  dumb  darkened  skies 

Hung  about; 

What  shall  hide 
A  look  from  the  deeps  when  soul  is  bride? 


Sufficit  6i 

Over  there  the  mad  whirl 

Of  a  torch 
Blazed  out  on  their  swill  and  swirl 

Of  debauch, 
While  here,  to  one  wail  of  a  mort, 

These  gentle  ones  wrought 
From  the  rot  in  a  king 
Such  fine  streaks  as  lie 
Where  young  May-clouds  must  die 

In  their  spring, 

As  violets  leap 
To  pick  their  bloom  from  a  dunghill's  heap. 

Here,  just  here  in  this  waste 

Where  we  stand, 
They  died,  nor  scarce  took  a  taste 

In  the  land 
Of  life,  as  here  just  they  dropped 

Like  blue-bells  are  cropped 
By  a  pinch  of  frost 
When  the  sun  is  gone. 
As  a  breath  is  born 

To  be  lost — 

Here  they  died 
Where  spoonfiowers  feast  and  the  rain-birds  bride. 

Here  together  they  died 

Hand  in  hand; 
Here  have  they  slept,  side  by  side, 

By  command 
Of  the  king;  while  those  who  would  know 

How  the  world  is  so, 
Why  it  fails  at  the  top, 
What  Beauty  is  wove 


62  Sufficit 


If  men  perish  for  love, 

They  will  stop 

At  the  cross 
To  look  for  meaning  above  the  moss. 


MAN  AND  BIRD 


One  melody-bird  struck  his  notes  to  play 
Into  my  window  by  open  day 
As  if  to  say : 

"I  sing — you  never  sing! 

I  pipe  my  soul  into  shrills 
Would  make  the  eagle  dip  his  wing 
To  listen — you  mumble  your  ills 
Over  the  way, 

Most  as  men  have  done  alway, 
As  if  this  soul  were  of  shotted  clay ! 


II 


"I  tie  to  my  tree, 
You  look  up  to  me! 
Did  I  drop  to  your  earth 
For  its  angleworm- worth, 
'Twas  that  I  might  stomach  me 
To  rise  again  to  stick  to  my  tree 

To  whiffle  my  vago-note 
Lip  never  caught,  man  never  wrote. 
My  home  in  my  tree- top  air 

For  what  is  fair. 
You  to  your  gizzard  and  gulp  of  care! 
63 


64  Man  and  Bird 


III 


"Castle  your  brain 
Against  the  rain, 
Coddle  you  warm 
Against  the  storm, 
While  I,  all  spirit  I, 
Make  nests  in  the  sky. 
In  forests  of  fingers,  my  spars 

To  point  me  to  the  stars. 
To  show  me  my  way  to  defy 
What  you  hold  to  be  worst, 
One  sentence  that  all  must  die. 
As  if  a  decree  of  God  could  be  curst ! 


IV 


"You  plough  the  earth, 
I  plough  the  air! 
Say,  what  is  it  worth. 
Your  ground-owl  share, 
Matched  with  my  birth 
In  the  spirit-air. 
Your  earthworm  earth 
Like  a  deluge  of  dearth 
In  your  field  of  care? 

Up  to  the  winds  I  am  singing, 
Out  on  the  winds  I  am  free 

To  my  sky  to  be  clinging. 
To  my  highmost  to  see 

What  Beauty  is  singing, 
Is  ringing  in  me 

To  be  up  to  be  kinging 
Eternity ! 


Man  and  Bird  65 


"You  duck,  you  quail 
At  the  wind-shot  hail 
As  if  craving 

A  place  you  may  sleep  in, 
Half  a  rat-hole  to  creep  in 
To  be  saving 

Your  pelt  from  the  sting  of  a  sliver. 

Your  soul  from  a  quiver! 

Have  a  look  to  me 

In  my  open  tree: 

Storm  after  storm  shall  shelter  me, 

Each  blast  of  a  mad-cap  night 

To  load  me  with  might ! 

What  storm  shall  down  me  to  death 

And  I  rise  on  its  breath? 

VI 

"How  wonderful  the  trees  are. 
Much  as  your  Christ  or  Caesar 

To  do  their  part ! 
They  capture  the  wealth  of  earth 

By  each  fine-fingered  art, 
Silver-leaf,  pear-gold  worth, 
Anything  to  give  Beauty  birth, 
To  lift  it  away  from  you 
So  you  must  climb  to  capture  it  too. 
Must  look  up  to  get  the  goldenly  blue ! 

VII 

"To  the  trees 

In  their  limbs  of  wings 

To  make  my  song  as  I  please ! 

Hope  whistles  and  rings. 


m  Man  and  Bird 

Thought  everywhere  sings 

More  than  the  bread  and  bone  of  things, 

More  than  your  hog-ox  browsing 

In  stubble  or  leasow, 

More.jtljian  pelt  and  belly-housing — 

As  if^fVYMt  I  seem  to  see  must  be  so! 

,iovil8  n  \o  )       ^^^^ 

"Up  to  the  winds  I  am  singing, 
Out  on  the  winds  I  am  free 
To  my  sky  tojDe^plinging, 

To'my  mghittost  to  see 
What  Beauty  is  singing, 

Is  ringmg  m  me 
To  be  up  to  be  kinging     ,  "  ' 
Eternity ! 

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IN  THE  NATURE  OF  THINGS 

There  's  a  nature  of  things! 

I  see  it  where  I  look 
Into  sky  or  nook! 

From  a  planet's  rings 
To  a  bubble's  wings, 

Whether  in  or  out 
Of  a  soul  or  snout, 

There  's  the  certain  subtle  nature  of  things! 

What  say,  will  you  doubt  me  that? 

Have  an  eye  to  the  summer  gnat 
To  see  him  poking  and  raking  at 

Life  as  you  do,  yet  he  comes 
To  life  just  where  the  sunbeam  drums, 

And  so  he  wallops  and  hums! 

There  's  a  nature  of  things 

In  a  cow-boy  gait ! 
As  he  loafs  or  springs 

He  is  early  or  late 
At  his  task,  while  so. 

As  things  come  and  go, 
He  makes  his  way  by  force 

Of  his  level  best  in  the  natural  course. 

Beauty  is  everywhere  I  look. 

In  a  crow-horn  song,  in  the  dipper's  flook, 
Beauty  to  come  to  on  your  own  hook, 
67 


68  In  the  Nature  of  Things 

You  to  stay  there  to  wield  your  power 
Like  a  star  does,  like  a  passion  flower, 

And  you  make  what  of  it  but  you 
Capture  the  Power  and  Beauty  too? 

Once  was  this  fine  story  told 

In  Pembroke,  as  men  grew  old. 
Liked  each  evening  to  tell 

How  pure  goodness  went  well. 
How  evil  came  to  nought. 

How  Beauty  is  wrought 
By  conflict, — and  so 

By  one  evening  ember-glow 
This  story  came  to  a  pitch  and  go: 

By  one  sweet-fern  bank  of  the  sea. 

Where  sumac  coddles  the  wild  pea, 
Where  the  gray  sea  eagle  overhead 

Takes  one  blue  cloud  for  his  bed, 
Lived  once  brother  and  sister  together — 

Never  men  asked  a  question  whether 
Or  how  far  they  loved  each  other — 

Never  were  such  sister  and  brother 
So  heart-bound  to  one  another 

As  they  lived,  each  one  to  do 
What  the  other  fancied  most. 

Each  to  the  other  that  kind  and  true 
'Till  each  in  the  other  was  wholly  lost. 

What  a  wonder-thing 

In  the  world  to  see 
Is  the  love  I  sing. 

Is  the  soul  to  be 
All  the  best  it  is. 

All  the  rest  to  miss 


In  the  Nature  of  Things  69 

Nor  a  whimper  fling! 

Just  the  royal  ring 
Of  a  soul  for  king 

Is  the  soul  I  sing! 

Brother  and  sister,  just  they  alone, 

No  others  but  were  dead  and  gone ! 
Each  day  came  as  each  day  went, 

Rose-red  topped  the  firmament 
Of  love  each  morning  and  night, 

Each  kept  the  other  first  in  sight, 
Each  to  do  the  choice  royallest  thing 

Would  put  the  other  to  leap  and  sing. 
Scarce  would  he  leave  her  to  go  her  way 

Apart  from  him  a  part  of  a  day. 
But  he  must  have  her  at  stop  and  start — 

So  was  she  bound  in  his  true  wide  heart. 

Stop  to  think  a  bit 

Of  the  love  of  it. 
Of  the  way  they  had 

Which  was  high  and  glad. 
Of  the  heart  they  knew 

Which  was  human  true 
To  an  end  of  thought. 

And  it  mattered  not 
What  they  lost  or  got 

As  the  world-way  goes 
Or  the  grub-worm  knows, 

Only  this  to  think. 
There  is  love  to  keep 

As  a  planet's  wink 
Drops  never  to  sleep, 


70  In  the  Nature  of  Things 

There  is  love  to  do, 
There  is  love  to  be 

What  is  noblest  true 
Eternally! 


Lovers  came — there  she  listened 

Under  her  moon-magic  sky, 
Eyes  as  twin  stars  glistened 

Right  as  her  soft  long  sigh 
Whispered:     "  Love  is  a  thing  to  keep, 

Love  which  is  full  and  true; 
More  is  there  not  to  reap. 

Less  is  there  not  to  do 
Than  hold  to  love  which  is  best — 

There  's  the  plain  way  manifest!" 
Loved  she  so  the  brother  more 

Than  any  one  of  her  handsome  score 
Of  lovers,  as  each  one  came 

To  coax  her  by  his  breath  of  flame, 
There  grew  small  use  to  tease  her — 

Never  a  man  in  the  world  could  please  her. 

So  the  brother — not  once  he  thought 

Of  maiden,  nor  ever  knew 
If  a  sweet  girl  eyed  him  or  not. 

So  was  his  heart  to  the  sister  true 
As  this,  that  he  let  them  pass, 

Each  pretty  smiling  longing  lass. 


'T  was  thus  they  loved  each  other  so 
One  scarce  coiild  let  the  other  go, 

Yet  each  would  say:     "Let  love  be  best! 
If  you  be  wholly  happiest 


In  the  Nature  of  Things  71 

To  love  another  beside  me, 

So  I  would  have  it,  so  let  it  be!" 

Each  day  went  and  came  with  them 

Much  as  it  will  with  others, 
Love  each  day  dangled  like  a  gem 

Above  life's  littlesome  mock  bothers; 
So  grew  the  heart  large  for  kind  doing. 

Much  as  the  spirit-end  of  things 
Makes  for  nobling  and  truing. 

High  as  deep  heaven  pitches  and  swings! 

They  showed  their  soul  in  the  world  their  way, 

They  had  the  gem  of  a  thing  to  say 
For  couragement  to  me  or  you. 

They  found  the  best  was  the  blest  to  do 
And  did  it  and  loved  it  too ; 

Never  once  thought  of  what  they  lost 
By  any  way  men  count  the  cost. 

Only  one  purpose  of  heart  and  mind. 
Just  to  be  true  and  kind 

And  high  inclined. 

What  a  thing  is  this 

I  see  each  day, 
Each  new  precipice 

Just  a  higher  way 
For  me  to  climb 

To  my  point  sublime, 
Every  inch  I  lose 

Just  a  foot  to  gain, 
Eagle  peaks  to  choose 

Or  the  under-plain 
For  an  undertow 

Where  I  trip,  and  so 


72  In  the  Nature  of  Things 

Where  I  learn  the  land, 

Where  I  learn  to  stand, 
Where  I  take  command ! 

One  full  evening,  as  men  have  said. 

Never  they  saw  the  moon  so  red. 
Grinding  through  a  dome  of  scud, 

As  I  would  say,  like  a  wheel  of  blood. 
People  came  as  before  and  went 

Their  ways — there  was  livenment 
To  hear  the  sea-swash  run  trebles, 

See  lovers  play  for  luck  at  pebbles 
And  lips — I  remember  how  two 

Made  the  most  of  it  in  the  mist, 
Cheek  to  cheek,  oh  how  they  kissed 

And  coiled  in  each  other's  arms  for  true, 
Not  as  brothers  and  sisters  do. 

But  there  they  sat  in  the  sand. 
Heart  in  throat,  hand  in  hand 

As  brothers  and  sisters  know  not  of, 
All  another  kind  of  love. 

What  a  thing  it  is 

In  the  world  to  know 
There  waits  for  you  a  kiss 

If  you  come  or  go; 
Always  a  smile 

At  your  door  for  you, 
Always  a  heart 

To  the  fore  for  you, 
Always  an  eye 

Like  a  spot  of  sky 
Looking  true  and  high, 

Never  room  about 


In  the  Nature  of  Things  73 

For  a  taste  of  doubt 

But  your  world  is  fair 
And  you  get  your  share 

If  such  love  be  there ! 

Just  that  evening,  by  strange  hap, 

Right  as  sister  and  brother  eyed 
Where  the  two  lovers  cooed  and  sighed. 

Came  to  their  door  such  gentle  tap 
As  might  have  been  the  passing  rap 

Of  a  wren — never  was  heard 
Softer  sound  when  leaves  are  stirred, 

As  entered  the  cottage,  little  daunted, 
One  little  woman,  so  very  old 

Each  cheek  looked  blighted  and  cold, 
As  if  her  very  soul  were  haunted 

With  winter — like  sorrow-pits  her  eyes 
Oozed  water  always,  as  if  they  wept 

By  habit  and  never  slept. 
Neither  widened  nor  looked  wise, 

As  there  before  brother  and  sister  she  planted 
Knees  down,  hands  up  as  if  to  pray. 

Then  half  sermoned,  half  chanted 
This  tale,  and  you  shall  say 

If  she  did  wrong  to  speak  that  day: 

"Your  god-father"  (she  spoke 

To  the  brother  now) 
"One  day  awoke, 

God  knows  how, 
To  find  in  a  nest 

In  an  autumn  bough 
Two  infants,  twins. 

At  their  very  best, 


74  In  the  Nature  of  Things 

By  pinnacle-chins 

Of  dimples  blest, 
Eyes  of  a  kind 

To  swallow  such  light 
As  leaves  men  blind 

Or  crippled  in  sight, 
So  you  would  say 

They  were  eyes  to  see 
Like  stars  at  play 

In  immensity. 
Beautiful  they. 

These  twins  were  now, 
As  there  they  lay 

In  their  autumn  bough, 
And  such  smiles  at  play 

You  would  marvel  how 
They  were  cast  away 

In  a  jack-oak  bough. 
As  if  leaves  were  wings. 

Knew  a  way  to  fly 
Beyond  mortal  things 

By  some  highway  high, 
Bore  these  cherubs  up 

Like  a  cradle-cup 
To  their  breast  of  sky 

Ere  they  learned  to  die. 
There  they  lay,  such  new 

Twin  sisters  one  day, 
Yet  none  ever  knew 

How  they  flew  that  way. 
Now  your  father  came, 

Bore  them  lightly  down, 
Gave  them  his  name, 

Called  them  his  own 


In  the  Nature  of  Things  75 


His  bachelor  way ; 

Never  child  had  he  known 
In  the  world  to  say 

'Father.'     So  they  grew 
Wise  and  gentle  too, 

Yet  the  father  saw 
How  men  hunger  for 

One  son  and  heir 
All  their  soul  to  share, 

All  their  gold-heap  care. 
Mother  was  I 

Of  twenty  sons, 
Never  daughter  to  eye 

Like  a  sun-bee  runs 
To  his  rose  to  sigh. 

To  his  sweets  to  die, 
So  one  day  I  said 

To  your  father  this: 
'  Give  me  instead 

Of  a  son  to  miss 
Your  Beatrice, 

And  the  profit  is 
A  daughter  to  me. 

And  a  son  to  you — 
There  's  a  point  to  see. 

And  a  thing  to  do!' 
Nor  sooner  said 

Than  I  brought  you  here, 
Took  the  girl  instead 

To  my  heart  to  rear! 
There  you  have  it  now. 

Just  the  whole  truth  how, 
By  such  sweet  cabal. 

You  were  both  made  one. 


76  In  the  Nature  of  Things 

How  the  thing  was  done, 

And  you  not  brother  and  sister  at  all ! " 

What  a  curious  thing  now  that  thing  is  to  tell ! 

Just  a  look — they  were  brother  and  sister  no  more — 
One  could  see  the  spirit  in  their  eyes  jump  and  swell 

As  heart  leaped  to  heart  now  as  never  before, 
Face  lost  in  face  at  one  clasp  and  forever. 

Lips  fastened  as  if  they  would  unfasten  never, 
As  there  by  the  nature  of  things  I  could  learn 

How  Beauty  is  Power,  Power  is  Beauty  in  turn; 
How,  just  by  the  nature  of  things,  what  is  Right 

Makes  headway  and  one  proper  day  comes  to  light 
By  the  genius  of  Beauty  and  Kingdom  of  Right! 

There  now  as  he  held  and  kissed  her, 
Man  and  wife,  not  brother  and  sister, 

Came  the  thought,  What  a  subtle  thing 
Right  is  with  its  Beauty-wing 

To  couch  in  one  winter-bush  unseen, 
Hatch  the  white  iris  and  God's  green 

Out  of  a  winter's  tooth  and  spleen 
To  come  to  such  power  by  spring 

As  puts  purple  eyes  in  an  orange  wing 
To  fly  where  Beauty  is  endless  King. 

All  their  best  in  the  world  they  had  done; 
More  is  not  known  under  the  sun ; 

Took  to  each  other  for  mighty  love, 
Brother  and  sister,  nought  above, 

Never  a  gain  were  they  thinking  of 
Save  to  love  and  hang  close,  each  to  each, 

As  red  cheeks  hang  to  my  morning  peach, 
As  there  they  waited,  not  once  thinking 


In  the  Nature  of  Things  77 

How  love  laughed  at  them  and  was  winking 
Their  way,  and  he  set  the  trap, 

Never  slip-up  or  mishap, 
They  in  their  own  goodness  caught 

Right  where  they  hoped  and  heeded  not, 
To  show  how  Right,  like  a  plover's  wings, 

Rises  to  flight  by  the  nature  of  things. 

As  you  see  and  I, 

God  is  in  His  sky 
Not  to  rule  by  fear, 

Not  to  rule  at  all, 
But  the  world  is  here 

At  your  beck  and  call 
If  you  strike  to  do, 

As  is  meant  you  should, 
For  the  most  in  you 

For  eternal  good. 
For  all  Beauty  there 

In  the  ball  of  air 
That  you  get  your  share, 

Nor  you  fall  aside 
Where  the  pit  is  wide 

And  your  hands  are  tied — 
There  's  your  light  and  shade 

As  the  world  is  made, 
While  not  the  Lord  Final  King  of  Kings 

Changes  ever  his  natvire  of  things. 


PEARL 

Try  a  hand  at  it  once, 

Try  a  month  of  hunts, 
Then  tell  me  if  you  have  found  a  girl 
Half  like  my  honest  gentle  Pearl 
In  her  teens 
And  greens! 

Hunt  the  world  over  you, 
Try  moon-spaces  too 
To  see  if  you  find  a  lip  like  hers 

To  whisper  as  the  glee-bird  stirs 
At  her  nest 
And  best ! 

I  know  I  heard  you  say, 

In  a  flippant  way, 
I  am  older  than  she  is  by  half! 

So  much  the  more  I  love  her  laugh 
With  its  tune 
Of  June!  f 

So  much  the  more  is  she 

All  aglow  to  me 
By  what  I  see  in  her  leaping  heart, 
Such  joy  as  never  knew  an  art, 
With  her  leaven 
Of  Heaven. 
78 


Pearl  79 

And  so  because  of  you 
Who  love  her  too, 
I  am  to  lose  her,  for  you  are  young. 

You  are  to  cling  where  I  have  clung 
In  my  sway 
And  day. 

You  think  you  love  her  indeed. 

Have  a  heart  in  need, 
The  fury  of  passion  to  have  and  hold! 
I  may  not  love,  since  I  am  old, 
Have  a  stoop 
And  droop. 

Have  you  once  thought  of  this. 

How  these  arms  will  miss 
The  sweet  soul  they  were  clinging  to 
Before  she  came  to  know  of  you 
At  your  gloze 
And  pose? 

I  am  to  know  no  more. 

As  always  before, 
A  touch  of  her  lip,  her  eye  to  look 
Sky-scenes,  like  a  rested  brook 
Gathers  haze 
And  blaze. 

You  are  to  give  her  now, 
In  the  lip  and  brow, 
Your  kiss,  while  I  am  to  let  her  go! 
I  am  too  old  to  love  her  so 
For  her  arm 
And  palm. 


8o  Pearl 

For  her  dimples  and  chin 

And  her  satin  skin ! 
Is  love,  then,  only  a  power  to  see, 

Something  which  means  to  die  in  me 
For  the  lack 
Of  back? 

Her  soul  and  mine  are  one 

All  sides  of  the  sun. 
Grew  so  the  very  day  she  was  born 
To  me  from  yonder  coast  of  dawn 
For  my  guide 
And  bride. 

So  you  take  her  to  your  care. 

But  you  hear  me  swear 
She  '11  not  give  you  her  love  which  is  mine 
More  than  the  stars  give  up  their  shine 
To  these  flocks 
Of  rocks ! 

Lover  and  loved  and  so 

You  may  try  to  know 
Only  what  the  world  would  have  you  think, 
How  love  is  but  the  passion's  wink, 
Or  a  breath 
Of  death. 

Am  I,  her  father,  then, 

But  the  least  of  men. 
Now  you  have  taken  away  from  me 

Only  what  I  may  touch  and  see  i 

By  my  mite  ' 

Of  light? 


Pearl 

Her  father !     Now  you  know 

How  I  love  her  so, 
As  you  could  not,  so  my  truth  appears, 
Take  my  place  in  her  smiles  and  tears 
In  the  climb 
Of  time. 

You  loved  her  first  to-day 

Your  swamp-robin  way; 
I  loved  her  when  she  could  claim,  God  knows, 
Little  more  than  hands  and  toes, 
Scarce  a  jot 
Of  thought. 

Take  her,  have  her  to  keep. 

While  I  drop  asleep! 
More  is  her  soul  than  you  know  or  guess, 
Was  not  made  to  grow  less  and  less 
Like  her  eyes 
And  size. 

More  she  shall  be  to  me 

Than  you  now  may  see; 
More  she  shall  grow  as  her  tan  cheeks  die, 
More  is  one  life  than  all  the  sky 
Now  I  know 
Her  so, 

Now  I  know  and  for  truth 
Soul  is  least  in  youth ; 
Whittles  the  nose  thin,  stops  up  the  eyes 
To  get  a  new  other  kind  of  size 
Than  all  thought 
Has  wrought. 


82  Pearl 

Have  her — my  love  is  best — 
You  may  have  the  rest, 
For  best  must  win  in  the  long-time  run, 
Soul  is  more  than  is  under  the  sun — 
So  I  climb 
As  I  chime! 


KNOW  THYSELF 


Ods-bobs,  but  how  he  could  write! 

You  could  see  him  that  way  all  day  writing 

Into  the  night-deep — wrong  or  right 

Neither  here  nor  there,  he  sent  that  kiting 

With  his  stocks  he  stocked  and  mightied  by  his  writing. 

II 

"Puffs"  and  "ads"  are  what  he  wrote, 
Which  sting  and  steal,  noiseless  as  a  padder, 
Prick  poison  in  to  suck  blood  out. 
Wind-galled,  bloated  as  a  bladder — 
So  there  you  have  your  genuine  puff-adder! 

Ill 

"Thistle"  is  good,  not  because 

It  is  good,  but  just  because  he  said  it; 

Aside  from  righteousness's  laws 

He  could  put  whole  gold-heaps  to  your  credit — 

So  he  tickled  the  public  paunch  and  fed  it. 

IV 

One  by  one  his  patrons  grew 
Apace  in  the  world,  came  rich  and  mighty 
By  doing  as  he  told  them  to. 
Bought  dog  low,  sold  out  when  it  was  flighty — 
So  he  made  the  market  bloom,  so  made  it  blighty. 

83 


84  Know  Thyself 


Discontent  came  now  he  saw 
How  others  prospered  by  his  flying, 
His  own  small  all  he  sweated  for 
Enough  just  to  keep  him  sighing,  lying 
To  send  his  Thistle  enterprises  flying, 

VI 

So  said  he,  "and  why  not  I 

To  richen  and  let  the  others  scribble? 

I  tire  of  supping  on  a  sigh. 

Of  taking  life  in  by  the  nibble 

And  my  disciples  there  plump  gut  and  bibble." 

VII 

Next  day  this  thing  caught  his  eye: 
"  'Nettle'  shares  net  forty  by  the  showing, 
Price  as  low  as  dividend  is  high, 
Fortunes  for  the  asking  most — no  crowing 
Is  this,  so  up  to  pluck  and  get  you  going!" 

VIII 

Why  not  buy? — The  thing  is  new: 

Never  he  heard  of  it  before; 

Reads  so  as  if  it  must  be  true; 

The  more  he  reads  to  figure,  score  by  score. 

The  more  he  likes  it — never  heard  of  it  before. 

IX 

Down  pockets  for  all  he  had — 

Price  is  low,  as  stock  exchanges  quote  it! 

He  '11  stake  his  luck  on  't,  good  or  bad, 

— Luck  is  all  a  split  ship  needs  to  float  it — 

And  the  lie  was  all  his  own — he  cooked  and  wrote  it! 


PETER  ROUBLEMINT 

One  way  is  to  get  the  most  of  things, 
Another  to  get  the  most  of  you — 

Which  would  you  say  the  more  profit  brings, 
Or  which  were  nobler  of  the  two. 

You  to  make  the  most  of  the  worid, 

Or  the  worid  to  make  the  most  of  you? 

Little  comes  to  us  to  think 

Each  way  out,  which  were  best. 

Or  put  it  to  the  test, 

So  much  somehow  most  men  shrink 

From  doing  their  sovereign  best 

For  no  kind  of  greed-gain  manifest. 

Being  better  a  man  shall  make 

Most  of  him  than  he  stuff  his  craw 

For  pastime  or  gullet's  sake, 

I  see  this  perfect  equation-law: 

Let  a  man  do  his  worst. 

He  is  conquered  from  the  first. 

Here  's  a  story  once  was  told 

Puts  this  plain  truth  manifold : 

My  man  was  the  groundling-man, 

Built  his  soul  on  the  ground-floor  plan 

So  to  get  close  to  earth 

To  tap  its  gold  and  melon-worth 
85 


86  Peter  Roublemint 

Pie-fly  fashion — he  knew  how 

Life  is  all  stomach  and  all  now 

Or  never,  this  world  to  be  got 

And  swallowed  like  an  apricot, 

His  masterpiece  of  a  job. 

Since  man  is  equipped  to  gnaw  and  mob, 

Nimblesome  fingers  to  dig  for  gold 

The  tree-root  way  to  keep  his  hold, 

So  down  he  went  under  ground. 
Bored  and  burrowed  into  clay, 

Hung  to  his  purpose  night  and  day 

By  the  tooth  and  purpose  of  a  hound. 

Soon  his  sky  was  dullard  earth. 

Mud-bank  heaven,  sand  for  cloud, 

Nor  look-up  nor  pimple  worth 
Of  light,  so  down  he  bowed 

To  worm,  to  wrestle  and  root. 

Since  gold  is  always  under  foot. 

Nought  above  him,  sky  shut  out 
And  sunbeam-night,  each  gentle  pout 

A  tulip  or  jack-oak  has, 
Freshets  of  stars  no  more  overhead 

To  play  their  fountains  in  the  grass, 
His  all  about  him  the  same  as  dead. 

His  was  just  jacknasty  life, 
Peoplehood  he  left  behind, 

This  soul-flower,  petals  of  heart  and  mind, 
For  gold  only,  so  now  his  strife 

Was  digging  pit  into  pit 
For  gold  and  for  more  and  more  of  it. 


Peter  Roublemint  87 

Gold  overhead,  gold  underneath, 
Gold  only  to  bite  and  breathe, 

Here  or  there  one  touch  of  shine, 
Never  sky-look  nor  touch  divine 

Like  I  see  in  a  single  star 
To  point  me  ever  never  so  far. 

There  he  was  in  for  no  way  out. 
The  one  path  back  to  light  he  lost, 

So  now  began  to  count  the  cost 
When  leisure  took  him  to  look  about — 

He  had  compassed  an  earth-right, 
But  where  in  earth  was  his  birthright? 

His  fields  he  left  behind. 

White  syringa  sky-inclined — 
Down  in  the  west  his  scarlet  sun 

Shows  nought  is  ended  or  begun, 
For  there  just  over  the  way 

Is  always  another  different  day — 

His  popinjay-bird  jumping  to  sing 

He  could  have  no  more — those  days  were  gone 
When  a  bugle  of  a  throat  is  born 

To  make  his  lilac  morning  ring 
For  the  heart  in  it  and  soul — 

White  heaven  tied  to  a  rose's  bole. 

Behind  him  were  dimples  in  the  sea. 
White  new  pebbles,  sparks  of  sand 

For  mottos  of  eternity 

To  show  how  Soul  is  in  sight  and  hand — 

Yet  once  he  grew  so  gold-inclined 
All  his  best  else  was  put  behind. 


88  Peter  Roublcmint 

Even  her  high-minded  look 

She  gave  him  before  he  descended, 

The  girl  whose  sotil  was  one  welfare-book 
Of  Beauty  which  is  never  ended, 

Her  cheek  of  the  sun-apple  glow. 

Who  lost  him  and  who  loved  him  so. 

See  how  a  man  who  fixes  his  goal 

Of  gold  or  somewhat  other  to  get 

Contrives,  after  all,  just  to  find  his  soul 
By  very  means  of  hindrance  and  let, 

For  look  to  see  now  how  this  groundling 
Found  himself  to  be  a  foundling ! 

He  dug  his  pit  in  the  ground. 
Gold  above  him  and  around 

To  where  he  could  fasten  his  hold 

On  nought  save  just  his  tomb  of  gold! 

Will  you  then  say  't  is  a  law 

Man  catches  but  what  he  angles  for? 

But  look  once  to  a  wider  look : 
More  is  outside  than  in  your  book ! 

Late  in  his  day  he  grew  to  discover 
He  lost  flower  and  field  and  lover, 

Lost  the  pure  sky  overhead 
Of  green  ribbons  and  pompous  red, 

His  frog-lake  where  as  boy 
Soul  was  synonym  for  joy 

As  up  his  hill  he  flew 
To  where  his  zinnias  bowled  him  blue 

Or  yellow  to  tempt  him  to  know 
Man  is  greatest  to  conquer  and  grow; 


Peter  Roublemint  89 

For  shall  he  count  his  cost, 
Taking  only  what  he  lost? 

Certain  is  one  truth  so  plain, 
There  's  no  loss  but  counts  me  gain; 

Not  a  human  kind  of  cross  is 
But  yields  more  than  any  loss  is. 

Four  fingers  to  a  cross,  and  true 
One  points  down,  while  the  other  two 

Show  the  world  east  and  west  to  you, 
Yet  one  last  finger  points  you  straight 

To  zeniths  of  worlds,  all  not  as  great 
As  man  is  by  his  soul-estate. 

Out  of  sight,  underground. 

Piece  by  piece  his  soul  he  found 
By  way  of  one  truth  multifold: 

Value  in  him,  not  in  his  gold. 
Is  what  a  man  comes  to  find 

Who  tries  to  leave  himself  behind. 

By  way  of  what  he  lost 

And  its  double  cost; 
By  means  of  what  he  saw 

Life  is  all  intended  for. 
Deep  down  underground 

Digging  for  gold  his  sotd  he  found. 


NOW  AND  THEN 

Once  again  we  are  men! 
No  sun  may  set  from  these  hills  up  here 

Where  the  top  is  clear; 
Foul  dust  of  streets  may  not  sail  on  an  air 

Which  rolls  up  above  care ; 
As  boys  we  were  friends  in  suns  and  rains 

And  play  on  the  plains; 
What  then,  shall  this  digging  and  pigging  for  gold 

Part  the  ways  now  we  're  old? 

Part  the  ways  and  days? 
You  were  captain  then,  stood  sharp  upon  guard 

At  the  hilt  of  a  sword, 
While  I  shouldered  arms  to  take  to  the  ranks; 

Only  boys  at  their  pranks? 
But  we  took  you  to  heart,  pushed  you  up 

From  the  ranks  to  the  top ; 
No  envy !    Not  the  pout  of  a  whimper  then, 

Just  before  we  were  men. 

Only  boys  at  their  toys? 
Well — is  it  the  width  of  a  stride  or  span 

Which  marks  you  a  man? 
The  cock  of  a  hat  or  length  of  head 

Or  troops  you  have  led? 
90 


Now  and  Then  91 

As  boys  we  were  brave — neither  sham  nor  show — 

A  look  and  a  blow, 
But  no  flinching  nor  low  mean  malice  then 

Just  before  we  were  men. 

What  a  march  through  the  arch 
Of  laurel  and  pine  in  our  knuckled  hills ! 

Only  boys  at  their  drills? 
There  was  battle,  too,  but  the  cutting  was  kind. 

Many  a  clip  at  the  wind; 
See  them  fire  to  fall  back,  now  the  long-boots  come. 

At  the  whip  of  a  drum ! 
Yet  no  blood  was  dropped ;  no  killing  was  then 

Just  before  we  were  men. 

Perhaps  then  we  were  men, 
Have  grown  less  and  less  from  then  until  now; 

Who  shall  say  why  or  how? 
Noble  manhood  then,  larger  and  true, 

'Though  the  days  were  but  few. 
Is  such  not  the  glory  of  one  great  hour 

Of  love  at  its  power: 
"Call  them  to  come  to  me  once  again 

Just  before  they  are  men?" 

To  war  and  the  fore 
You  took  up  your  march  down  the  way  of  life, 

Gentle  war  to  the  knife! 
Soul-wrapped  were  you  in  your  science  of  drilling 

For  the  art  of  killing, 
While  I  took  to  tapping  the  earth  for  its  mould, 

The  truth  for  its  gold; 
What  then,  shall  a  difference  of  thought  part  the  ways, 

Part  the  ways  and  days? 


92  Now  and  Then 

Be  friend  to  the  end! 
These  days  are  few;  they  were  never  but  few, 

All  the  days  old  and  new; 
Through  fury  of  wars  and  storms  without  harm 

We  are  out  in  a  calm; 
Your  hand,  old  friend,  let 's  trudge  on  together, 

Nor  ask  "why"  or  "whether"; 
Cheek  by  jowl,  if  just  for  the  love  we  had  then, 

Let 's  be  men  once  again ! 


I 


GOLGOTHA 


Skulls!     Now,  there,  look  there, 
Out  of  the  sink  and  every  book  there, 

In  under  my  grate, 
Over  each  window  the  bone-white  pate 

Of  a  skull — through  my  door 
They  poke  to  grin  as  never  before, 
One  junket  of  skulls — look  you  to  think 
Of  those  eye-pits  peering  out  under  the  sink 

And  not  a  wink! 

My  college-chum,  see 
How  they  jaw- widen  to  mock  at  me 

Out  clean  to  the  street! 
My  college-room  fire  grew  hot  and  fleet, 

Light  flew  out,  night  flew  in — 
There  now  they  gape  like  a  look  of  sin. 
Larger  and  smaller,  some  come  crescent, 
With  all  to  one  spread  of  grin  incessant 

To  no  point  pleasant! 

Each  new  night  it  was  so, 
But  one  such  night,  I  would  have  you  know, 

As  I  watched  the  grate 
I  tried  to  ponder,  to  dig  my  pate 
93 


94  Golgotha 

To  unclosct  the  thing, 
To  try  to  know  what  good  they  could  bring, 
What  curse,  perchance,  in  each  heavy  jaw 
Of  a  bone-bottled  head,  what  bodiless  law 

They  pleaded  for. 

The  owl-hour,  understand, 
Now  ciphered  one  by  one  thin  cold  hand 

As  I  fetched  two  clips 
At  a  clinker  stuck  between  the  lips 

Of  my  grate,  when,  one  head, 
One  you  would  know  for  a  long  time  dead, 
One,  too,  I  thought  I  knew  before 
In  a  match  at  nouns  where  I  lost  the  score. 

Put  eyes  to  the  floor. 

Put  eyes  to  me. 
Or  pits  of  black  where  eyes  should  be 

With  "Friend,  there  is  cold 
Clean  through  me,  I  was  not  wholly  souled; 

My  song  men  took  to  heart 
Nor  saw  one  trick  of  my  tricksy  art; 
Kick  the  coals  to  rouse  a  tinder. 
Pack  me  snug  to  a  sunny  cinder — 

I  was  Pindar! 

"Look  you,  now,  this  head! 
I  have  it  still  for  soul  instead; 

My  fine  thought  took  flight. 
Soared  to  Parnassus'  temple-height, 

Flew  to  you  down  the  ages — 
Could  you  keep  warm  between  the  pages 
Of  skulls? — look  there  how  your  boots  are  full 
Of  skulls  to  lug,  and  you  play  the  fool 

In  your  skull-school ! 


Golgotha  95 

"See  I  now,  full  view, 
How  they  would  make  such  fool  of  you: 

There  's  Plato  under  sink 
Who  taught  a  wide  world  how  to  think, 

Such  hanging  brow  I  guess 
The  whole  of  him  was  one  skullishness 
For  thinking  only — he  makes  you  feel 
Your  whole  heart  is  put  under  heel 

And  under  seal ! 

"Skulls,  for  love  of  God! 
There  in  your  slop-tub  and  rubbish-hod 

Are  skulls,  sickish  white, 
Looking  to  you  out  of  pits  of  night 

The  skull-look,  wholly  head. 
As  wholly,  too,  hard  and  cold  and  dead 
Now  night  tingles  and  the  wind  lulls 
As  there  in  your  ceiling  like  groups  of  gulls 

Are  skulls  and  skulls ! 

"They  did  their  best,  past  doubt. 
Began  the  world,  had  to  think  it  out, 

And  good  or  bad. 
Just  their  cold  skull  was  all  they  had 

To  clear  a  path  for  you, 
You  to  make  nobler  than  what  they  knew 
Who  yet  were  not  grown  to  such  spirit-part 
As  would  make  the  world  over,  by  every  art, 

Into  one  great  heart 

"To  throb  in  tune — in  tune 
With  no  skull-song,  but  with  leafy  June 

Of  rose-moss  lip 
Which  will  not  let  the  bush-end  slip 


96  Golgotha 

But  puts  one  blossom  there 
To  prove  how  life  is  sweet  and  fair 
As  death,  'though  rooted  into  sod, 
Will  pink  and  laugh  and  pout  and  wither  and  nod, 

Stand  straight  as  a  God. 

"A  place  of  skulls,  your  school, 
Skull  for  ruler,  skulls  to  rule 

For  building  head  up  high. 
Small  matter  if  the  finer  part  should  die 

So  men  may  keep  their  head, 
A  casket  where  spirit  lieth  dead. 
For  see  in  each  bone-box  if  you  can 
One  trick  of  thought  which  could  prove  you  a  man 

On  the  highest  plan!" 


II 


I  sat  me  by  the  fire  this  night, 

Pythagoras,  Pindar,  Plato  too, 

To  wonder  if  they  could  be  right 

That  man  in  the  world  must  be  brainful  bright 

To  prosper  or  get  his  due; 
To  wonder  if  thinking  were  the  best 
A  man  may  do — if  to  force  his  way 
By  Skullhood  against  the  rest 
Must  mark  his  generation  best 

Or  noblest,  as  they  say; 
To  wonder  if  to  gain  an  end 
Over  one  brother  of  weaker  mould 
Could  count  me  so  high-citizened 
As  if  I  held  him  for  a  friend 

To  let  him  keep  his  hold 
On  littler  purposes,  keep  my  power 


Golgotha  97 

To  overmatch  him  fast  in  check 
That  he  might  gain  on  me  each  hour, 
Forget  once  how  to  mewl  or  cower, 

We  to  travel  neck  and  neck; 
To  wonder  if  the  thing  were  right 
I  swing  such  power  because  I  can 
For  being  born  to  over-might 
In  broader  brow,  keener  sight, 

And  the  end  in  view  a  man; 
To  wonder  if  the  world  must  come 
To  this,  that  skull  shall  have  first  place 
To  strike  the  soul-power  dumb. 
Put  it  off  with  half  a  crumb, 

He  best  who  shall  win  the  race; 
To  wonder  if  such  hard  cold  thought 
As  rules  men  so  like  a  jailer's  rod, 
This  thinking-cap  so  dearly  bought 
For  best,  so  hard  and  wholly  sought, 

Be  truly  a  part  of  God; 
To  wonder  shall  a  man  not  share 
One  divine  breath  by  being  great 
Enough  to  never  have  a  care 
To  put  his  skiill-skill  top,  to  fare 

Better  than  a  brother-mate; 
To  wonder  if  after  all  is  said 
And  done  to  college-pump  it  full, 
This  pig-eyed  button-pocket  head 
Ever  one  instant  pocketed 

The  high  overwhelming  soul — 
When,  right  from  one  comer,  ill  at  ease 
To  do  his  best,  as  such  best  can. 
Came  lantern-eyed  Diogenes, 
At  his  wit's  end,  down  on  hands  and  knees, 

Still  looking  for  a  man. 


98  Golgotha 


III 

Right  as  I  sat  me  thinking, 
To  wonder,  to  try  to  make  it  out, 
Knew  the  highest  best  thought  is  born  of  doubt, 
While  I  sat  brewing,  blinking, 

Came  there  out  of  my  curtain 
Which  hung  in  the  window,  folded  back 
Like  a  fustanelle  by  a  fancy  new  knack. 

Two  steps  put  soft  and  certain ; 

Two  eyes,  and  they  were  blinking; 
Two  hands,  like  May  in  a  spoonwood-bush. 
Put  out  as  if  they  were  trying  to  push 

The  skulls  off  and  their  thinking; 

Two  words — the  lips  were  parted — 
Two  small  new  words  I  had  never  known, 
Which  hugged  her  lips  as  sapphires  hug  a  throne, 
Soul-haunted  and  spark-hearted: 

"I  love" — right  there  she  rested 
Till  I  could  pluck  up  my  thought  to  know 
How  the  words  shot  forth  their  summer  glow 
To  pin  me,  winter-breasted ; 

To  know,  too,  of  their  meaning, 
Of  her,  of  her  sweet  new  tulip-lip 
A  man  could  not  mean  to  ever  let  slip. 

Her  and  her  quiet  queening. 

"I  love" — the  words  came  ringing 
So  through  me  I  could  not  think  to  tell 
If  they  were  not  some  supersensuous  bell 

Choked  off  by  its  own  sweet  singing. 


Golgotha  99 

"  I  love  the  bell-berry  flying 
Free  right  and  left  in  a  slapping  wind, 
But  better  the  broom-flower  which  has  been  thinned, 
Stripped  and  left  to  its  dying. 

"I  love  the  Oregon  steeping 
His  wooded  waste  in  his  wedded  song, 
Or  the  rek  of  a  log-cock  all  my  day  long 

To  put  me  dreaming,  sleeping; 

"So  love  I,  too,  for  fancy 
My  loon  and  his  night-cry  pitiful, 
The  mouth  of  a  wheatear  ditiful. 

Moons  at  their  necromancy; 

"Love  I  the  icicle  pointed 
Like  a  keen  forefinger  straight  to  earth 
As  if  to  show  how  all  ways  of  worth 

Are  deep  down  and  disjointed; 

' '  But  more  than  these  I  treasure 
My  poverty-bird  with  not  a  song 
From  his  red  sad  heart  all  the  white  day  long, 
Him  and  his  little  measure; 

"More,  too,  I  love  my  grasses 
Which  blush  not  nor  lift  up  one  sweet  breath, 
This  bay-leaf  which  flutters  so  near  to  death 
Right  when  each  August  passes; 

"More  I  love  the  rose-chafer 
Digging  to  coop  in  his  bumble-den 
With  only  a  taste  of  sun  here  and  then, 
Life  thin  as  a  wafer. 


loo  Golgotha 

"  Here,  now,  comes  my  reason 
I  value  to  love  them  so  much  more 
Than  choir-birds  which  run  the  whole  happy  score 
Of  June- tunes  just  in  season : 

"Give  me  my  chance  to  listen, 
I  put  an  ear  to  a  finch  in  tune 
Or  a  nonpareil  pinned  to  a  leaf  of  June — 

Oh,  how  they  trip  and  glisten! 

"I  put  an  eye  in  summer 
To  watch  my  jenneting  turn  a  cheek 
Of  such  scarlet  to  me  as  wants  to  speak 
For  once  to  one  new-comer; 

"So  come  I  to  such  thrilling 
As  slips  through  every  knot  and  nerve 
Which  summer  will  rapture  beyond  reserve 
Of  throat  or  finger-spilling ; 

"But  what  of  that  fine  stronger 
Keen  frenzy  which  comes  of  no  eye  at  all. 
Of  no  ear,  of  no  perch  in  the  skull  or  gall. 
Comes  later  to  stay  longer? 

"Comes  where  there  goes  no  listening. 
Will  track  a  sea-pigeon  to  love  him  more 
For  his  pauper-throat  and  his  lonesome  shore 

And  black  wing  and  no  glistening? 

"What  save  a  breath  of  spirit 
To  see  and  feel  without  use  of  eyes 
How  my  world  gets  a  smalling  pit-end  size 
The  nearer  I  come  near  it? 


Golgotha  loi 

"For  what  the  world  is  lacking 
I  love  it  more  than  for  what  it  gives; 
More  for  one  that  dies  than  for  all  that  lives 
Is  heart-break  and  soul-racking. 

"Shall  I  not  know  the  better 
Fine  highest  first  best  of  me  that  speaks 
For  more  than  these  fly-leaps  in  days  and  weeks, 
Live  soul  up  to  the  letter? 

"What  you  fear  to  be  missing 
Is  flesh-pots,  the  blood-hot  puff  of  lip 
For  wallowing  to  come  to  another  sip 
Of  my  cooing  and  kissing. 

"Just  there  you  stop — no  growing 
Of  love  to  be  greater,  like  love  can, 
To  round  a  man  out  to  be  perfect  man 

Whether  this  skull  be  knowing 

"Or  not — mark  you  my  meaning: 
Your  college-place  is  the  place  of  a  skull 
Where  soul  may  die  down,  heart  part  may  dull 
So  skull  shall  be  gleaning 

"Of  other  skulls  their  treasure 
To  build  you  a  brain  to  make  your  way 
Up  to  nerve-tingle  and  gold  to  pay 

For  pleasure  still  and  pleasure. 

"I  look  for  love  to  be  holding 
More  than  it  shows  or  may  think  to  feel, 
Like  a  bell  has  more  song  than  it  can  peal, 

Like  sweet  chokes  yellow  golding. 


I02  Golgotha 

"I  look  for  love  which  prizes 
Nor  taste  nor  touch  nor  your  gold  about- 
Will  not  the  lark  put  the  planet  out 

Of  his  heart  when  he  rises? 

"I  look  to  love  to  be  springing 
High  as  space — there  is  Plato  there, 
Brain  biilged  out,  so  much  more  than  his  share, 
While  to  him  you  are  clinging. 

"Better  you  take  my  judging: 
You  may  not  bunch  up  soul  in  a  book, 
Nor  pack  it  away  in  your  coppice-nook 
To  be  budging,  snudging, 

"  Nor  keep  it  to  you  for  shelving 
To  hand  to  me  or  another  there 
Now  I  see  how  spirit  is  wondrous  fair 

Beyond  lipping  or  selving, 

"Beyond  loving  or  lothing, 
Save  that  this  love  longs  to  bear  away 
From  what  is  only  the  earth-worm  way 
Of  coming  to  nothing." 

IV 

Yes,  she  was  right,  I  could  see. 

Right  as  right  could  be ; 

But  what  of  this  bubble-up  of  youth, 

Never  a  handfiil  of  heed. 

Ever  an  armful  of  greed. 

Nor  cares  one  swish  for  a  swash  of  truth? 

I  could  not  bear  away  from  her 

And  her  hand  there,  the  tiny  hand 

To  point  so  much  I  could  understand, 


I 


I 


« 


Golgotha  103 

To  droop  down  like  a  Concord-leat 

To  win  and  master  me  past  belief; 

So  from  her  hand  to  beyond  the  wrist 

Where  the  arm  bends  in  as  if  to  float 

Some  spring-song,  like  a  swallow's  throat, 

I  listened  for  and  only  missed 

For  lack  of  a  finer  ear  to  snare 

What  subtle  rapture  nested  there. 

The  place  was  rough  as  any  college, 

Hands  in  for  digging  out  old  knowledge; 

Men  forgot  how  what  is  truth 

Is  fine  always,  age  or  youth; 

One  troop  of  skulls  now  omniform 

Huddled  about  the  grate  like  rows 

Of  knowledge,  the  kind  which  knows, 

To  look  to  coals  to  keep  them  warm; 

I  knew  this  parlor-trick  tribe 

Of  thought-jugglers,  knew  their  way 

Of  skull-building  to  prescribe 

Themselves,  by  song  or  play, 

When,  take  them  for  good  or  for  bad, 

Just  their  tough  skull  was  all  they  had. 

So  was  it  I  knew  the  sleek 

Quick  way  to  a  maiden's  heart 

Lay  through  her  cherry-lip  and  cheek. 

For  you  may  know  I  learned  my  part. 

Right  at  an  edge  of  the  window-ledge 

Was  swinging  one  branch  of  orange-flower, 

Much  as  the  tongue  of  a  clock  gives  pledge 

To  tell,  yet  will  not  tell  you,  the  hour. 

This  I  twisted  from  its  stalk — 

I  knew  the  flower-power  to  command. 

Such  silent  mouthful  of  sweeted  talk. 

So  put  it  in  her  locket-hand 


I04  Golgotha 

To  close  on,  so  she  might  understand 

How  I,  too,  meant  to  be  there 

For  prisoner  in  her  flower-hand  fair. 

Words  I  could  sparkle  like  skies 

To  dangle  in  her  ears  and  eyes; 

Could  treble  notes  to  the  zenith-tips 

Keen  as  a  pair  of  Pindar-lips. 

Had  I  not  learned  in  my  time 

How  the  flesh-and-blood  way  is  first 

In  this  world — soul  at  its  worst 

Will  scent  the  blood-line  in  case  of  thirst, 

Cock  up  an  ear  for  a  drink  of  chime. 

She  was  no  more  than  just  this  flesh  . 

Of  robin-warmth  to  be  caught 

Napping,  let  me  spread  my  mesh 

With  cunning  of  the  clap-trap  sort 

For  women,  smile  and  sweet  surprise 

To  trick  them  like  a  school  of  flies! 

Beside,  did  I  not  love  her  then  and  there 

The  way  men  love,  for  her  chin  and  hair 

And  brow-scowl  and  little  waist 

And  fingers  and  ribbon-taste? 

What  better,  or  what  were  they 

Save  soul-shape  pricking  through  the  clay? 

Down  we  sat  on  the  floor 

The  skulls  among,  grate  before; 

Her  hand  I  held — next  I  drew  her 

So  to  me  we  were  cheek  on  cheek; 

Than  hers  never  heart  was  truer, 

While  not  one  word  she  would  speak. 

So  I  caught  her  cheeks  'twixt  finger  and  thumb 

To  squeeze  one  shy  word  out  of  its  close 

'Til  her  lips  grew  to  one  young  wild  rose 

I  held  there,  scarlet  and  dumb, 


I 
I 


Golgotha  105 

Kept  their  secret,  never  a  sound 

To  whisper  to  the  world  around 

But  me  only — there  they  came, 

Caught  my  kisses  as  any  flower 

Tucks  a  lip  up  to  take  the  shower, 

Dew-fall,  summer-sigh,  forked  flame- 

My  face  I  darkened  in  her  hair. 

While  underneath  where  the  pearl  neck  hid 

As  if  that  part  of  her  were  forbid, 

I  fastened  my  lips  and  longing  there, 

My  fingers  at  her  temples  and  face, 

I  rained  such  kisses  in  her  eyes 

As  drew  their  starlight,  took  my  place 

Alternate  at  her  throat  and  lip 

To  see  to  it  not  a  sigh  should  rise, 

To  let  not  one  small  whisper  slip, 

Held  her,  arms  out,  both  arms  'round 

And  fastened  and  so  securely  bound 

I  thought,  as  truth  it  seemed,  that  she 

Was  part  of  the  very  soul  of  me. 

There  she  lay  in  my  two  hands 

As  a  young  bird,  partly  tamed,  will  lie 

For  safeness,  but  half-way  shy. 

One  look-off  as  if  to  other  lands 

And  skies — seemed,  too,  so  glad 

I  should  so  love  her,  but  all  the  while 

Underneath  the  sunrise  smile 

Was  one  small  cloud-look,  partways  sad, 

To  tell  me  how  my  way  of  love 

All  for  herself  to  make  the  most 

Of  heart  in  her  and  lip  and  ghost 

Was  moth -measure,  not  enough 

To  come  to  greatness  of  the  sort 

Which  makes  more  mightiness  out  of  worth, 


io6  Golgotha 

Which  knows  to  hold  above  this  earth 
And  its  sculpin-love,  pot-wise  thought, 
To  come  to  high  best,  as  such  best  can, 
One  largest  keen  love  of  truth  and  man, 
Soul-uppcrdom  of  the  stripe  to  ride 
To  soar  plump-hearted,  get  outside 
This  your  day-podded  livelihood, 
This  mate-love  by  which  men  brood 
For  a  day's  chuckle  and  a  pint  of  good. 
So  to  wing-broaden  to  make  escape 
From  this  bone-mould  and  finger-fuss 
Which  pot  us  to  one  certain  shape, 
All  minimy  to  play  minnow-ape, 
Rough-govern  men  as  an  incubus. 
Such  was  her  look,  which  was  all  there 
In  her  lip-shut  and  splendid  stare, 
So,  'though  I  held  her  to  me  fast 
In  arms — never  she  once  moved — 
The  one  look  she  gave  me  proved 
My  love  was  small,  a  dream  gone  past. 
The  while  I  held  her,  heart  and  head. 
She  was  not  there,  but  had  risen 
Like  a  lapwing  from  her  prison. 
While  what  I  held  was  her  cage  instead. 
She  was  all  as  I  have  seen 
Song-swallow  rise  to  hover 
Straight  above  tree-spire,  keen 
To  tempt  her  plum-fishing  lover 
To  face  one  heaven  of  storm  and  sun, 
Only  the  crowd  of  stars  above  her, 
So  she  might  not  clap  wings  alone 
To  cycle  'round  the  spirit-zone. 
So  was  all  of  her  silence  broke 
Now  she  spoke  to  me — so  she  spoke: 


Golgotha  107 

"Here  's  one  truth  for  your  thinking  of: 
One  other  love  comes  above  it 
Makes  a  man  almost  unlove  it, 
One  kind  which  works  not  for  any  gain 
Of  circumstance  to  blossom  better, 
Fears  not  loss,  bafflement,  pain ; 
Will  break  each  shell,  each  ankle-fetter 
To  get  above  self  just  to  make  scope 
To  see  outside  of  life  and  hope 
And  fear  and  each  little  peoplish  way. 
To  make  master — never  great  for  pay ! 
Here  is  conflict: — Glut  life  to  the  letter, 
Follow  the  law,  be  man  among  men. 
Yet  is  there  of  you  another  better 
Will  force  an  audience  again  and  again. 
Will  say:  Make  the  most  of  it,  tree  and  nest, 
Follow  the  world  by  the  honor-way 
To  love,  be  loved,  come  wise  each  day 
To  let  the  laurels  'round  you  play. 
Yet  is  the  thing  not  your  monarch-best. 
But  more,  your  very  game  you  play 
To  make  the  most  of  it  to  live 
For  what  the  good  world  has  to  give 
Will  lose  you  more  in  another  way: 
Never  a  breath  you  drew 
For  gain  in  it,  if  you  knew. 
But  argued  a  higher  heart  in  you 
Than  sings  in  summer  or  may  be  found 
Tangled  in  law-knots  which  govern  ground, 
As  death  to  an  ortolan  that  you  may  breathe 
By  chopping  his  song  off  between  your  teeth; 
I  split  a  bobolink  to  eat  his  heart. 
While  just  a  thought  of  his  pretty  song 
He  made  me  all  summer  long 


io8  Golgotha 


Will  bring  mc  to  a  stop  and  start ; 

Death  to  all  life  so  you  may  grow 

To  keep  on  living  and  loving,  and  lo 

Who  is  there  lives  and  loves  it  so? 

Do  what  you  may  for  gain  to  you 

With  not  a  thought  of  others  too, 

The  thing  were  nobler  not  to  do. 

Here  is  battle:   See  what  you  see 

Of  how  you  came  to  be  what  you  are 

By  such  vast  slaughter  and  rank  evil 

As  goes  to  shame  the  very  devil 

For  the  red  flame  in  it  of  hellish  war — 

Would  you  turn  back  to  such  parent  breast, 

The  rough  hard  heart  in  it  and  the  rest, 

More  than  this  bell-flower  breathes  or  keeps 

Putrid  dung-pile  from  which  it  leaps? 

Then  is  there  in  you  that  which  turns 

Hand  against  nature,  as  I  see  it. 

To  grow  aloof  and  one  day  flee  it — 

This  flower-breath  rises,  but  not  returns. 

You  have  your  crop  of  better  stuflf 

Which  makes  for  mastery,  which  is  worth 

More  than  all  harvesting  of  earth 

To  plump  up  gut,  yet  crops  not  enough 

To  satisfy  one  honest  longing 

For  higher  branches,  sunnier  songing." 

So  she  reasoned — I  could  not  answer 

When  she  said,  "You  be  a  man,  sir. 

Of  the  new  type  to  hang  to  all  best, 

Nor  count  your  loss  of  love  and  the  rest 

Which  men  count  better  and  you  count  best 

To  pamper  passion,  one  toss  of  a  groat 

To  ring  at  an  ear,  tickle  a  throat — 

Would  you  win  mc  you  shall  rise 


Golgotha  109 

To  all  encumbrance  of  my  skies 

To  bear  a  little  from  earth  away 

To  come  to  me,  more  and  more,  each  day 

By  larger  love  and  finer  and  true 

To  one  starful,  which  you  never  knew 

Nor  may  in  your  college-lull 

Where  you  dig  for  God  in  your  human  skull." 


EDWARD  FARNUM  SOUTHWICK.     OBIIT  1855. 

I 

Only  seventeen  when  he  died, 
The  soul-eyed  eagle-winged  boy 
Just  blossoming,  like  a  pomeroy, 
Of  brightened  brow  and  the  certain  stride 

I  knew  once — I  was  that  young 

I  scarcely  had  mind  or  tongue 

To  tell  him  how  I  knew 
He  was  so  great  and  fine  and  true. 

II 

So  young  he  was  to  die, 
Just  as  he  put  a  lip  to  Spring 
To  taste  without  once  swallowing ; 
Could  have  his  pick,  could  have  reached  so  high 

And  death  had  thought  good  to  spare 

Such  May-bush,  so  uncommon  fair 

Of  promise  to  put  his  mark 
In  sky-land  like  an  evening  spark. 

Ill 

As  he  was  about  to  go 
I  had  but  got  here,  scarcely  more 
Than  flanked  my  tin  soldiers  at  his  door 
To  give  him  warning  he  should  not  go; 
no 


Edward  Farnum  Southwick  m 

Called  to  him,  found  him  not  there, 
Only  the  white d  lip  and  stare 
Of  eye-light  that  flashed  up 
Like  cinders  from  a  silver  cup. 

IV 

Beauty  had  put  its  mark 
In  each  blue  vein  of  him  like  a  net 
To  snare  the  spirit,  one  star  was  set 
Fast  in  each  eye,  I  saw  the  spark 

Meant  only  Beauty  to  say 

How  fairer  he  was  behind  the  clay 

Than  men  may  think  to  dream, 
And  they  get  only  the  goggled  gleam. 


And  his  life  was  not  begun. 
Since  there  could  be  no  life  for  him 
Of  your  worldish  cock-snipe  puppet-whim 
To  fly-plumb  sun-sweets,  to  have  a  run 
In  stubble,  to  make  what  most 
He  could  where  some  poor  brother  lost, 
To  clinch  and  throttle  and  thrust. 
Make  a  life  of  it  because  he  must ; 

VI 

As  if  a  man  may  not  rise 

Above  this  world-wave  of  life  you  hold 

For  the  value  of  its  breath  of  gold. 

Its  treacle-swim  and  fleet  of  flies ! 

Shall  I  take  such  life  to  heart 
For  being  of  it  and  one  part 
More  than  a  pomfret  drinks 

His  sea  in  where  he  blows  and  blinks? 


112  Edward  Farnum  Southwick 

VII 

Such  men  do  grow,  in  their  time, 
Soul  too  large  for  one  life  to  mould, 
Too  fine  to  perfectly  unfold 
Before  they  reach  the  unclouded  clime 

They  know  of  to  make  their  way 

In  one  rich  other  kind  of  day 

Of  spirit-blossom-breath, 
All  out  of  reach  of  this  life  and  death. 

VIII 

There  was  that  of  him  was  sure 
To  take  him  outside  your  swing  of  thought 
And  feeling  and  doing,  just  that  sort 
Of  spirit  which  is  so  fine  and  pure 
As  will  not  come  to  a  touch 
Of  earth  to  get  the  shock  and  smutch- 
Only  one  dip  of  wing 
In  a  lake  of  glass  or  silver  spring 

IX 

At  evening,  like  he  mistook 
The  mirrored  star-specks  in  a  stream 
For  his  true  heaven,  for  so  they  seem. 
Bent  him  once  downward  to  have  a  look 
And  skim  across  the  wave 
To  find  there  only  an  open  grave, 
Then  the  one  touch  of  pain 
And  he  was  off  to  his  sky  again. 


All  surely  there  was  for  him 
Scarce  a  place  here  which  he  could  touch, 


Edward  Farnum  Southwick  113 

So  fair  was  the  soul  of  him  and  so  much 

As  to  put  his  world  about  him  dim, 
And  he  but  a  boy  at  that, 
And  such  a  man  to  be  coming  at 
As  only  God  may  know 

Why  he  should  have  been  taken  so. 

XI 

Once  in  his  new  garden-bed 
He  picked  a  pinkster-flower  that  I 
Might  look  to  see  how  soon  it  would  die, 
The  way  of  perfect  Beauty,  he  said, 

Put  it  in  my  pink  toy-hand 

To  keep  'til  I  could  understand, 

While  all  the  one  sweet  while 
I  saw  only  his  heaven-haunted  smile. 


XII 


Oft  do  I  dream  one  way: 
Your  soul  had  in  it  such  vast  worth 
As  not  to  treasure  the  toys  of  earth, 
Came  only  to  look  once,  not  to  stay — 
And  yet  you  might  come  again 
In  a  sweeter  new  lull  of  wind  and  rain 
When  men  have  learned  their  part 
To  hold  to  you  by  their  larger  heart. 

XIII 

You  were  more  than  I  could  see. 
And  so  soon  gone  again — you 
Of  the  wondrous  brow  and  heart-look  through 
Of  marvellous  gentlest  mystery 


114  Edward  Farnum  Southwick 

Of  soul  which  could  not  be  read, 
Too  much  was  there  to  be  partly  said, 
And  so  you  went  your  way — 
Wovild  I  might  follow  one  clear  day ! 

XIV 

Poor  Eddy — for  so  I  think 
Who  may  not  know  things  as  they  are, 
Who  grasp  at  shadows  for  my  star 
To  forge  me  my  chain  without  a  link — 

I  wonder,  and  we  once  meet, 

Would  you  know  me  as  now,  or  leap  to  greet 

The  child  you  knew  before 
With  his  tin  soldiers  on  the  floor? 


THE  APPIAN  WAY 

What  a  pity! 
She  came  to  town  this  day, 
Linked  about  in  blooms, 
New  blooms  of  May, 
The  which  she  gathered  by  the  way 

From  field  to  city. 

No  one  knew 
How  she  left  her  home. 
Her  sky-crowned  cottage 
To  come  to  Rome 
— The  larger  for  the  smaller  dome — 

No  one  but  you. 

A  word  with  you: 
I  saw  her  pass  this  way 
Towards  the  ruins; 
She  would  not  stay 
Nor  catch  one  word  I  had  to  say, 

But  faster  flew 

To  turn  aside 
Just  in  the  fatal  shade 
Of  Pompey's  statue; 
Her  heart  dismayed 
Right  where  a  country's  hopes  were  laid 

When  Caesar  died. 


ii6  The  Appian  Way 

I  heard  her  sob ; 
Such  stones  are  strange  to  tears; 
Then  she  sighed  your  name; 
A  thousand  years 
Have  not  cut  off  a  maiden's  fears 

The  half  a  throb. 

You  drew  her  here 
By  tempting  her  to  come; 
With  no  thought  but  you 
She  left  her  home 
To  join  you  in  the  jaws  of  Rome 

For  love  and  fear. 

Strange  yonder  lights 
But  how  they  butt  to  flare 
Against  the  columns 
Which  stalk  to  stare 
Among  all  ages  crumbling  there 

On  Caelian  heights ! 

What  fire  is  there ! 
What  flint-head  rock  is  gone, 
Sunburnt  to  ashes 
To  nurse  the  thorn, 
Ashes  and  thorns  men  step  upon 

To  thrones  of  care! 

Pleasure  and  Care, 
Twin  monsters  of  the  night. 
How  Uke  Hell's  angels 
Ye  slip  the  Hght 
To  skvdk  to  spit  a  demon's  blight 

On  all  that 's  fair! 


The  Appian  Way  117 

Say  you  "Why  not?" 
Because  't  is  written  still 
In  all  hearts  of  men, 
Thou  shalt  not  kill 
One  purpose  of  the  human  will 

Divinely  wrought. 

Her  sweet  regard 
Is  all  this  world  to  you ; 
Once  that  is  gone 
What  sky  is  blue? 
A  day  has  mourned  to  leave  its  dew 

On  sand  and  sward. 

She  waits  for  you 
Just  where  great  Caesar  stood 
To  trust  him  to  his  friends; 
All  her  fine  mood 
Is  bent  to  bring  you  peace  and  good, 

And  friends  are  few. 

She  sought  the  town 
That  you  might  name  her  fate 
Among  the  ruins; 
'T  is  not  too  late — 
Be  master  where  the  cause  is  great, 

Don't  help  her  down! 


I 


IN  CCELIS 


Her  image  within 

In  the  clasp  of  my  soul 

To  beckon  and  win 

Me  where  time  shall  unroll  ■ 

All  the  planets  of  space  ■ 

And  not  touch  her  sweet  face. 


Always  I  think  of  her, 
Now  she  is  gone; 
Her  violet  eyes,  the  pure  pink  of  her 

Of  a  summer-day  dawn; 
Such  gentle  face,  as  if  spirit 

Hovered  near  it — 
So  much  of  her  for  thinking  on 
As  each  new  day  is  born, 
Now  she  is  gone. 

n 

Always  I  think  to  see 
A  look  of  her, 
Just  her  sweet  look  as  it  used  to  be, 
Just  the  one  perfect  look  of  her, 
As  I  would  give  a  whole  Heaven  to  know 

She  sees  me  so 
As  I  am  now  this  ripe  iris  morn. 

This  bell-blossom  day  I  was  born, 
Now  she  is  gone. 
ii8 


In  Coelis  119 

III 

Each  day  too  comes  there  this 
For  me  to  think : 
She  knows  now  how  my  whole  Hfe  is, 
The  worst  of  it,  each  Hnk  by  Hnk ; 
There  stretches  the  imperfect  chain, 

So  Httle  gain 
Since  last  I  saw  her  that  sorrow-day 

Which  dropped  its  shadow  to  play 
Across  my  way! 


IV 


Yet  this  one  thing  I  know: 
She  sees  for  clear 
What  value  love  has  to  come  and  go 
To  leave  me  longing  so  here; 
They  know,  these  everlasting  ones 

Among  the  suns, 
How  Beauty  ever  keeps  on  and  on, 
A  thing  to  think  and  live  upon, 
Now  they  are  gone. 


Her  tuberose  pot  is  this, 
The  one  she  kept 
Below  her  window  pontifice — 
That  last  day  she  lay  and  slept 
They  died,  her  flowers  so  like  her  they! 

A-lack  a-day 
How  Beauty  breathes  and  is  gone  again. 

Much  as  to  say:  "Your  world  is  vain 
Of  pot  and  grain, 


I20  In  Coelis 

VI 

"And  so  I  go  my  way 
Of  other  skies, 
Have  had  enough  of  your  tumble-day 

To  long  for  struggle  to  rise, 
Never  enough  of  its  heavy  frown 

To  hold  me  down, 
And  so  I  break  away  from  its  rune 

To  point  you  my  higher  noon, 
My  rarer  June." 

VII 

Tie  to  your  love  your  way 
Of  heavy  earth; 
Jump  lip  to  lip  in  passion-play, 

How  short  it  lives  and  is  nothing  worth ! 
Out  where  yonder  yellow  stars  glisten 

I  look  and  listen. 
Or  here  where  my  maple-tree  purrs, 

My  swamp-lark  dances  in  his  firs — 
What  love  like  hers? 

VIII 

This  was  her  cottage  too; 

Each  little  vase 

Took  some  tint  or  look  which  was  true 

Of  her  beautiful  face — 
Her  room  now,  parrot  and  picture-wall, 

Keep  her  smile  and  call; 
All  around  is  her  spirit-mark, 

That  I  through  my  thickest  dark 
May  look  and  hark 


In  Coelis  121 


IX 

To  find  her  somewhere  near, 
Or  come  to  know 
Spirit-Beauty  is  wholly  too  dear 
To  crumble  under  and  go 
Like  a  plum  does  on  an  autumn  spit 

For  lack  of  it — 
So  now  I  see  it  by  what  is  plain, 
Her  whole-soul-look  to  me  again 
As  that  day  when 


She  first  held  me  in  arms — 
I  could  not  know 
I  was  her  wild-flower  in  her  palms 
And  she  there  clinging  to  me  so; 
I  could  not  see  nor  know  her 

Till  more  and  more 
I  grew  spirit  and  bosom-size 

To  drink  love  out  of  her  eyes 
Whole-hearted- wise : 

XI 

That  way  now  I  may  see 
How  just  the  same 
She  keeps  beyond  and  over  me 
To  be  my  soulfullest  aim 
To  come  to  her  by  her  higher  way, 

As  she  would  say. 
While  so  I  look  trustfully  on 
To  watch  for  her  in  yonder  dawn, 
Now  she  is  gone. 


I 


SONG 

Comes  there  nought  of  sinning, 
Nought  of  winning; 

Life  hangs  about  the  wooing 
And  the  doing; 

Mount  your  pinnacle  of  thought, 

Love  is  there  or  life  is  not. 

What  comes  there  good  of  pleading, 

Good  of  creeding? 
Soul  knows  a  way  of  growing. 

Way  of  knowing 
How  your  self-dependent  plan 
Maps  the  mastrous  kind  of  man. 

Comes  nothing  of  your  pining. 

Of  your  whining; 
Spirit  goes  a-trusting, 

Goes  a-justing. 
As  all  value  of  the  rout 
Is  the  grapple,  bout  by  bout. 

I  catch  my  star  by  groping, 

Not  by  hoping; 
Pitch  dark  to  point  an  iris 

Where  the  fire  is — 
Any  super-glut  of  light 
Cheats  my  seeing  out  of  sight ! 


Song  123 


Fate  hangs  about  endeavor 

Dull  or  clever; 
Makes  much  of  half  a  struggle, 

Plod  or  juggle, 
So  the  soul  of  it  be  true, 
So  the  whole  of  it  be  you. 

Mind  you  not  the  losing 

Nor  refusing; 
There  's  more  behind  the  forfeit 

Than  the  profit ; 
Loss  means  twice  another  gain 
In  the  Eminent  Domain. 


LOVER  TO  PRIEST 


You  shall  not  have  her! 

Sky  may  pinken  out  of  time, 

Seas  churn  fury  into  chime, 

While  you  surprise  your  thrapple  by  a  psalming  of  palaver, 

But  you  shall  not  have  her! 

II 

She  shall  not  waver! 

Sing  in  sermon,  preach  in  song. 

Send  your  right  note  rattling  wrong 

And  I  pledge  you  my  stars  the  true  ring  of  her  heart  shall 

save  her, 
For  love  may  not  waver. 

Ill 

She  shall  not  reply. 

Blind  where  she  stands  at  the  gate 

To  grope,  hands  up,  for  a  mate, 

Till  I  touch  her  eyes  with  my  fire-new  sight,  and  you  may  rely 

On  her  perfect  reply. 

IV 

Cowl  shall  not  cow  her! 

She  shall  be  truth  out  of  reach, 

Clean  beyond  snares  which  you  preach. 

Grip  not  a  prayer  for  a  crutch  to  thought-weaken  or  bow  her, 

Cry  cripple  to  cow  her! 

124 


Lover  to  Priest  125 


Trick  shall  not  bind  her! 

She  shall  be  love,  which  is  sane, 

Not  tied  by  a  knot  of  her  brain. 

Not  to  care  for  how  you  turn  blood  into  wine  to  remind  her 

Your  chain-words  could  bind  her. 

VI 

You  shall  not  stop  her! 

Never  yet  was  truth  once  stopped 

Since  the  blue-blown  heaven  was  propped! 

Make  it  a  point  of  how  to  think  of  Christ,  how  prayer  is  proper, 

But  you  shall  not  stop  her! 

VII 

What  then  shall  hold  her? 

Mine,  not  by  right  of  thought, 

But  by  my  right  of  soul,  heart- wrought. 

Which  gets  above  your  thought  to  come  to  love,  and  that 

shall  mould  her, 
Just  love  shall  hold  her. 

VIII 

You  shall  not  have  her ! 

Your  time  is  not  come,  but  past, 

To  unsoul  souls,  cow  and  gast! 

Peer  sharp  as  an  awl,  look  damned  dumb-ague  to  smirk  and 

glaver. 
But  you  shall  not  have  her! 


SUPERNITY 

Kifi^ia  eq  dec 

Beauty  is  all  there  is, 

So  Beauty  alone  survives! 
Beauty  is  all  I  miss 

In  this  world  of  lives 
Of  great  men  and  small  men, 

As  of  all  men 
What  is  this  worst  and  best 

But  Beauty  put  to  the  test? 


Duty  begins  everywhere 

And  ends  nowhere! 
Duty  is  a  thing  to  do 

Which  makes  the  most  of  you; 
Is  a  thought  to  take 

For  another's  sake, 
A  profit  I  lose. 

Yet  is  put  to  use 
When  I  come  to  choose 

Between  me  and  another. 
My  unfortuned  brother — 

So  have  an  eye  to  duty. 
The  pink  choice  check  of  Beauty. 
126 


I! 


Supernity  127 

Love  is  the  wing  of  power, 

Reaches  skyward  every  hour 
Like  my  phyllis  flower ! 

My  love  was  at  fearful  cost, 
And  so  I  thought  I  lost 

Because  I  could  not  see 
Infinite  sublimity 

In  the  north  celestial  ring 
Like  a  yellow  shining  wing 

For  forever  spread 
Over  the  lost  and  dead, 

And  so 
Love  lingers  and  I  go, 

Love  cares  never  for  gain. 
All  alike  are  pay  and  pain. 

Hateful  the  bribe  of  booty — 
So  love  is  Beauty. 

Thought,  too,  has  mastered  the  trick, 

Puts  in  a  lick 
At  this  evening  Mars, 

Counts  the  sputtering  stars, 
Pricks  the  unending  blue 

For  what  is  true. 
Fishes  deep  for  a  law 

Worth  living  for. 
Plasters  the  morning  sky 

With  its  aim  true  and  high, 
Soars  by  gyrfalcon  wing, 

So  truth  is  Beauty — that  I  sing! 

Beauty  't  is  to  live. 
To  take  and  give. 


128  Supernity 

To  come  to  the  clinch 

Nor  lose  an  inch, 
To  conquer  pain 

And  round  on  round 
To  down  the  ground 

And  rise  again 
To  come  to  power, 

This  power  in  man 
Of  Supreme  God 

To  cast  his  span 
Beyond  the  hour, 

Beyond  the  sod 
By  the  truth  he  reaps. 

By  the  power  he  keeps, 
By  the  Heaven  he  sweeps 

To  conquer  and  achieve. 
So  Beauty  't  is  to  live. 

Beauty  't  is  to  die 

Nor  breathe  a  sigh, 
To  pass  away 

Out  of  this  earth 
Which  gave  me  clay 

To  make  it  worth 
My  while  to  hatch 

The  amber  ray 
So  I  might  match 

The  stars  at  play 
Which  shape  their  light 

To  turn  to  you 
The  stripe  of  white, 

The  spike  of  blue 
To  jump  on  and  on 

When  the  clay  is  gone — 


Supernity  129 

And  so  I  drop  my  load 

When  the  brink  is  toed, 
I  take  my  leap  in  the  dark 

By  my  flying  spark, 
I  plow  the  spaces  through 

By  my  pink  or  blue 
To  know,  by  the  spark  in  me 

Of  eternity, 
To  know,  by  the  dome  on  high 

Of  my  sparkling  sky, 
'T  is  Beauty  to  die. 

Mark  but  yonder  cloud 

In  poise  over  sky 
Like  a  peacock  proud 

Of  the  aloe  dye, 
Each  new  shape  of  red 

Or  walnut  overhead, 
One  keen  scarlet  cut 

To  let  the  blue  fire  jut, 
And  so  soon  gone. 

Scattered  by  dark, 
Shattered  by  dawn, 

Yet  hark  and  mark: 
'T  is  the  cloud  is  gone 

Like  a  throttled  fawn, 
While  each  way  everywhere 

Swinging  free  and  fair. 
Making  the  daylight  rare. 

Kinging  the  rampant  air, 
Beauty  forevermore  is  there! 

Gentle  Edward  is  gone ! 
Oh,  the  beautiful  boy! 


13°  Supernity 

So  great  to  look  upon, 

Such  a  captain  of  joy, 
He  of  the  round  brow 

To  know  why  and  how. 
Of  the  perfect  heart 

Above  gold  and  art 
To  play  masterpart 

For  not  a  breath  of  fear, 
For  not  a  thought  but  here 

Life  is  noble  and  dear 
To  dare  to  do, 

To  dare  to  be. 
To  fight  it  through 

To  supremity 
By  force  of  virtue-might, 

By  force  of  mastrous  right — 
And  he  that  gentle  too, 

So  long-hearted  through 
To  what  is  fine  and  true. 

Kept  only  Beauty  in  view 
To  the  flaming  spit 

Just  for  love  of  it. 
As  now  he  seems  to  say 

From  yonder  where  he  lies 
Under  his  whited  skies: 

"I  only  went  my  brighter  way, 
All  'round  the  grave  is  day, 

A  day  you  may  not  see 
For  this,  that  you  are  stuck 

In  the  crock  and  muck ; 
More  and  more  is  to  be, 

I  am  one  with  immensity, 
Any  universe  is  small 

Matched  with  spirit,  which  is  all. 


Supernity  131 

And  so  I  have  gone 

To  my  larger  dawn; 
Always  I  go  on  and  on 

To  capture  more  and  more 
Than  any  future  or  before — 

Could  God  have  an  end  in  view 
In  endlessness,  or  is  it  true 

Nothing  comes  to  an  end  but  you?" 

See  his  garden  over  him, 

Flowers  of  cheek  and  limb, 
This  ople-tree  rose 

To  point  and  pose, 
Alfilerilla  flowers 

To  count  the  hours, 
Spikes  of  larkspur  to  point 

Where  all  worlds  are  joint, 
Tiny  blue  flowers  to  say : 

"We  too  are  on  our  way, 
Our  way  we  point  to  you 

In  the  everlasting  blue 
We  climb  and  fasten  to, 

A  blue  not  of  future  or  past, 
So  a  blue  is  meant  to  last, 

That  same  blue  which  is  ours, 
Beyond  this  sod  and  these  hours, 

Higher  and  lastinger  than  the  flowers" — 

So  the  grasses  wave 

Over  his  grave 
Only  to  point  the  way 

He  went  that  day. 


EGOHOOD 

Once  I  saw  a  child  rule 

Who  never  knew  he  was  ruling ; 
There  was  nor  creed-thumbing  nor  schooling, 

Only  it  was  one  sun-lorded  day 
Where  the  child  picked  bunch-lily  stems, 

Shook  the  dew  off  in  a  rain  of  sun 
To  see  \imber  and  white  iris  run 

Together  like  a  string  of  gems — 
Then  I  saw  the  child  look  up, 

As  if  to  say,  There  's  more 
Than  Judee  dew,  pale  madrepore 

In  yonder  elegant  cup. 
That  was  the  certain  self  of  the  child 

Whose  hand  and  heart  were  not  yet  moulded 
To  do  and  think  just  as  the  old  did, 

So  he  tasselled  the  dew  and  smiled, 
Now  looked  up,  now  looked  down, 

Thought  to  himself,  never  a  frown: 
I  wonder  if  I  best  stay 

To  whip  life  out  of  this  dew  and  clay, 
Be  as  some  think,  do  as  all  say, 

Or  give  my  heart  up  to  go 
Beyond  where  I  see  and  know 

Star-fields  shake  their  worlds  at  you 
For  little  briolettes  of  dew 

God-fashion,  which  is  lasting- true, 
Which  is  wholly  you. 

132 


Egohood  133 

There  's  the  one  way  to  be  manifest, 
Which  a  man  shall  be  to  be  his  best : 

Mark  first  how  the  child  was  free, 
Looked  up,  never  bent  a  knee, 

Yet  held  the  tall  great  Heaven  in  fee ! 
One  free-thoughted,  free-hearted  child 

Who  hugged  to  the  ground  the  acorn-way 
For  sun- wash,  April  spray, 

To  reach  up  where  the  stars  are  piled 
In  one  superlative  mock-orange  day — 

Star-worlds  put  off  so  far 
So  I  shall  see  how  small  they  are 

When  matched  with  spirit,  with  what 
Grows  in  the  child  to  be  bosom-thought, 

Heart-bounding  hope  and  longing, 
A  lip  of  pretty  tune- time  songing. 

Mark  how  now  the  child  never  knew 
God's  way  or  your  way,  only  their  way, 

Plum-buds  which  mount  their  stairway 
Up  the  branches,  capture  the  blue 

Sky-drip,  and  all  in  spite  of  you! 
So  now,  mark,  the  child  is  free, 

Whole-hearted  independent  stuff 
His  soul  is,  more  than  enough 

To  build  greatness  by  self -supremacy 
Once  he  gets  the  chance.     See  now  your  way: 

You  put  God  up  to  police  him, 
Change  his  tune,  clip  and  fleece  him 

Of  power  to  swing  his  own  thinking, 
While  next  you  have  him  mumbling,  shrinking. 

Cow-eyed,  neither  Ghib  nor  Guelf, 
Fingers  bent  to  tickle  a  book 

For  the  jail  in  it  and  snivel-look, 
He  to  forget  his  first  royal  self! 


134  Egohood 

There  *s  the  child,  clcar-lhroatcd  free 
To  be  the  whole  what  of  him  soulfully, 

Nor  you  to  tinker  him,  boast  your  blunder 
To  box  him  up,  bring  him  under 

To  knuckle  down,  drop  his  nod 
And  chin,  learn  what  is  true 

To  the  wrong  end  by  swallowing  you, 
Play  worm  at  it  to  enrapture  God. 


There  's  the  child  now — he  has  his  fair  start, 
Open-minded,  mammoth  heart, 

While  what  like  a  child  will  I  find 
For  spirit  so  high-inclined 

Beyond  pigging  or  trick  of  mind 
Which  makes  out  of  life  what  is  worst. 

As  to  seem  little,  stand  first? — 
Spirit  such  as  would  not  stay 

But  for  the  handicap  of  clay. 
Though  now  once  put  in  the  race 

There  's  but  to  fight  it  out 
Through  tug  and  hunger  and  doubt 

To  mightier  loftiness,  nobler  place. 
Once  I  tried  to  know  what  the  child  was, 

Whether  an  end  just,  or  one  new  cause 
For  power  to  mount  new  sky. 

Grow  other  hands  and  a  wider  eye 
And  compass — there  's  infinity. 

And  he  part  of  it ;  think  you  a  part 
Drops  out  of  the  universal  heart 

Which  plays  its  fountains  of  fire 
In  this  one  everlasting  desire 

Which  churns  and  chimes  so,  which  longs 
For  the  cymbal-whisper  of  songs 


Egohood  135 

Ear  never  once  has  heard? 
So  stammers  the  heart — why  doubt  its  word? 

The  child  I  lost  when  he  grew  to  boy, 
Lost  the  little  silver  tongue, 

Pretty  totter,  burst  of  joy — 
Who  would  not  keep  them  always  young? 

So  there  's  the  man  to  start  with, 
God-seed — everything  is  there 

Soul-first,  pheasant-fair. 
Which  straight  you  begin  to  part  with; 

You  head  him  head-first  at  the  world, 
Heart  made  prisoner,  brain  unfurled, 

Shape  him  pretty  much  all  head 
As  if  such  were  the  best  of  him. 

While  as  for  all  the  rest  of  him, 
His  God-side,  half  good  as  dead! 

Never  himself  he  's  to  be,  to  grow, 
But  you  just,  swallow  what  you  know, 

Do  not  his  thinking  but  yours, 
Down  before  you  on  all  fours 

Dog-fashion  to  be  mastered, 
His  prime  high  self  made  punk  and  dastard. 

Once  was  one  wise  one,  so  they  tell. 
Thought  to  put  a  new  better  spell 

To  Beauty,  so  caught  a  thrush. 
Carved  his  wing  another  shape. 

Daubed  one  streak  of  olive-slush 
Clean  across  his  nape. 

Clipped  his  bill,  split  his  tongue 
Till  his  new-made  mouthpiece  rung 

A  note  'twixt  the  wheeze  and  whistle 
Of  an  east  wind  in  a  thistle, 

Chalked  his  buff  bosom  pale. 


136  Egohood 

Painted  his  claw,  docked  his  tail, 

Then  handed  you  quite  the  common  quail ! 

So  I  hold  the  child  to  what  is  in  him, 

I  learn  of  him,  he  learns  not  of  me; 
I  learn  of  him  to  do  or  to  be 

More  than  mock-parrot,  mute  minim; 
I  learn,  first,  to  be  wholly  free 

To  do  the  lordliest  of  me 
According  to  me,  nor  according  to  you — 

You  have  your  high  self -way  too. 
So  leave  me  alone  to  mine. 

Hog-bean  or  orange  columbine, 
Since  I  am  for  what  I  am. 

Nor  shall  you  whip  me  to  your  shape 
Of  duck-foot  or  polygram 

To  mark  time  to  you,  play  ape, 
For  there  am  I  in  the  child 

God-fashion,  Majesty-styled 
To  build  grape,  unprison  oak, 

Not  to  be  felled  by  your  master-stroke. 
My  way  I  hold  to  for  only  my  way. 

There  's  the  one  Sir  Royal  Highway 
Of  mastery  which  is  man 

By  the  unique  whole  of  him, 
Vast  heart,  vaster  soul  of  him 

For  power  to  largen  his  ego-span. 

Agreed,  eh?     Man  shall  not  be  ruled 

By  man-monarchy,  not  to  be  schooled 

To  thumb  under  to  make  his  bow 

To  man?     Agreed!     Yet  next  what  now 

But  up  with  God  in  his  sky  high 

To  map  and  master  your  destiny, 


Egohood  137 

To  leash  you  snug  within  bounds 

Like  a  pack  of  hounds! 
Up  with  your  God,  down  with  you 

By  so  much  just  as  he  holds  you  to, 
Raps  your  knuckles,  pins  you  through 

So  you  may  come  to  quobbing, 
Snivel-lip,  psalm-sobbing. 

Think  him  lord-high  proud  of  you 
In  that  you  shall  quiver  to  sing. 

Whine  like  a  mewling  puppet-thing 
For  God's  sake — the  while  you  know 

Spirit-mightiness  is  not  so. 
The  loud  man  of  you  is  not  there 

For  climax  superabundant  fair 
As  bends  to  no  mightiness  anywhere. 

See  each  tulip  how  it  stands  up 
Straight  as  starlight,  never  nod. 

To  hold  one  cochineal  garden-cup 
Of  lip  up — there  it  whispers  to  God 

Of  triumph  over  Power  and  sod ! 
Once  was  one  wise  one,  so  is  told, 

Took  to  mastering  his  brave  dog 
That  knew  not  a  way  to  yield,  to  cog. 

Yet  the  master  thought  him  overbold, 
So  took  to  chiding  him, 

Took  too  to  hiding  him, 
Muzzled  him  to  bring  him  under, 

Practised  each  prime  stupid  blunder 
Which  makes  for  master  and  slave, 

Makes  one  plaster,  t'  other  knave. 
Till  he  had  him  so  well  in  hand 

As  the  sea  has  strips  of  shifting  sand. 
All  went  well  enough  till  there  came 

A  need  of  dog-soul,  need  of  the  flame 


138  Egohood 

Of  love,  which  is  power  to  do 

All  the  mastcrfullest  of  you 
Without  heed  of  profit  or  harm 

— There  's  life  at  its  superhuman  charm- 
For  one  night  came,  the  master  was  down, 

Smothered  in  the  clutch  and  frown 
Of  picaroons — each  cry  for  help 

Died  on  the  mask  of  dark — 
Came  there  back  just  the  coward-yelp 

Of  the  hound,  never  growl  nor  bark 
As  he  slinked  back  of  each  pinaster, 

Tail  tucked  well  between  two  legs 
Bent  under  him  like  broken  pegs 

For  fear — so  he  left  his  master 
Gagged  and  robbed  of  a  last  piaster. 

O  friend,  God  is  in  his  sky, 

Yet  only  the  thought  is  high. 
Since  with  him  is  neither  high  nor  low, 

Only  your  thinking  puts  it  so. 
By  which  way  all  highness  is  true 

Of  you  just,  only  of  you. 
The  God  you  seek,  the  power  you  glue 

To  planets  in  the  upper  blue 
Is  there  in  the  very  soul  of  you. 

Can  you  not  wield  it  nor  do 
What  God  does  with  sun  and  dew? 

Ah,  but  you  could  if  you  took 
A  leaf  out  of  his  Ego-Book 

Put  plain,  once  for  all,  at  your  hand, 
Little  letters  of  asphodel, 

Little  periods  of  sand, 
And  you  read  how  all  is  well 

With  him  who  shall  understand 


Egohood  139 


Beauty  makes  first,  is  the  thing  that  makes 

Most  of  itself,  ties  a  new  band 
Of  gold  leaf  to  each  seed  of  sand, 

Flinches  never  nor  quakes, 
Or  you  see  by  what  stroke  of  command 

This  Zinfandel-vine  will  crawl 
Across  two  corners  of  a  wall 

To  hang  the  white  bell  there,  purple  ball 
With  only  one  tiny  toilet  hand. 

Man  has  of  him  to  come  to  this : 
Nought  for  him  was  built  to  miss 

In  a  universe  which  is  soul, 
He  to  compass  not  the  whole 

But  more  always,  always  more, 
Stronger  by  what  he  was  before 

To  grow  growth,  he  to  be 
Himself  just,  all  almightily 

Himself,  never  part  of  you 
To  founder  under  your  thumb  and  shoe. 

Be  storm  what  it  may,  he  shall  meet  it: 
Be  there  power  to  crush,  he  shall  beat  it; 

Be  evil  ripemost  and  no  odds, 
He  shall  be  foremost,  stand  sure 

As  godliness  to  endure. 
High-handed  spirit-royal  pure. 

Nor  a  side  look  to  your  Monks  and  Gods. 
Made  was  man  to  be  man  first. 

To  beat  down  what  hellish  worst 
Is  of  him,  is  about  him. 

Furies  they  that  try  to  rout  him, 
War  to  the  teeth,  so  that  by  what 

He  mans  himself,  whimpers  not, 
Force  against  force,  Gods  or  Devils, 

He  stands  for  master  of  all  evils 


I40  Egohood 

To  hold  power,  swallow  light, 

Dip  his  moon-spoon  into  Right, 

Come  to  be  whatmost  vast  he  can, 
Self-kingdomed,  under  no  ban, 

He  a  God  at  it,  God  the  man ! 


Ah,  I  see  now  by  your  scowl, 
You  of  the  cassock  and  cowl. 

There  's  God  to  knuckle  to  plumb  under, 
Power  put  up  to  put  me  down, 

Sky-kingliness  in  brute  frown, 
God's  lightning  and  your  thunder! 

Power  there  is,  power  is  there, 
Beauty  and  power  everywhere 

And  I  part  of  it,  I  to  come 
To  more  of  it — shall  I  only  sip 

My  minim  of  such  eternal  sum, 
Never  once  one  swallow. 

Put  the  glass  down,  shut  the  lip. 
And  I  all  throat  and  hungry  hollow? 

Power  is  about  and  above. 
Power  is  for  me  that  I  may  love 

And  conquer  it,  never  to  get  enough; 
Power  against  me  for  me  to  fight — 

How  else  may  I  come  to  might? 
What  matter  put-backs  or  hurts? 

"Power  to  him  who  power  exerts." 
By  what  he  puts  under  shall  he  rise 

Nearer  and  nearer  to  his  skies; 
What  he  puts  over  him  for  power,  frown, 

There  's  the  royalty  puts  him  down. 
Here  is  one  truth  manifest: 

Man  may  not  complete  his  best 


Egohood  '41 

For  all  of  him  wholly  here 

In  one  life,  as  is  shown 
By  how  life  littles,  how  he  has  grown 

To  mightily  outgrow  it, 
Place,  power,  arena-peer — 

How  the  stars  in  his  spirit  show  it! 
Higher  forever  he  shall  reach, 

Nor  matters  it  how  you  teach 
Weakness  in  him,  teach  him  Power 

Meant  him  to  snivel  and  whine  and  cower 
Like  a  spoilt  dog.     One  part  of  Beauty 

Is  man — he  blossoms  out 
Face  to  force  and  toughest  duty, 

His  close  hug  with  death  and  doubt — 
He  has  his  way,  yet  he  will  come  at  it. 
Nor  counts  it  how  you  pipe  and  drum  at  it 
To  put  him  in  step  with  you, 

With  God — he  has  power  to  do. 
To  die,  which  is  divine. 

And  you  shall  not  whip  him  into  line 
To  look  up,  knuckle  under. 

Whiten  at  your  pistareen  thunder. 
Beauty  is  his,  he  one  part  of  it, 

He  the  lasting  soul  and  heart  of  it, 
For  see  how  Beauty  survives 

Over  change  of  power,  loss  of  lives 
And  worlds  and  all  I  see. 

And  Beauty  there  eternally! 
His  fight  goes  for  that  he  shall  do 

More  than  ever  you  half  knew. 
By  his  high  self  through  and  through, 

Like  as  the  jasper-jonquil  tribe 
Which  bends  never  to  threat,  to  bribe — 

He  to  throw  himself  against  Power, 


142  Egohood 

Not  on  it,  like  a  lemon-flower 

Or  chinkapin  at  a  frost, 
Bound  to  be  Beauty  at  all  cost, 

Battleful  mastiff  to  take  and  give, 
To  know  one  prince-prerogative: 

As  a  man  dies  so  shall  he  live; 
As  he  is  himself  and  wholly  >■ 

By  right  to  force  his  path 
Into  flower-land  and  aftermath 

By  mastership  to  conquer  folly. 
By  force  of  loftiness  which  is  pure, 

By  force  of  endurance  which  is  sure 
To  outlast  bondage,  through  thick  or  thin, 

Power  against  power  to  see  who  shall  win, 
Man  at  his  virtue  and  spirit-plot,  i 

Or  you  at  your  book  and  altar-knot  '   ■ 

To  fasten  him — love,  virtue,  duty 

Shall  put  him  beyond  you  and  your  kinks 
Of  cowardice  and  nasty  prison-links. 

He  the  keen  throne-shine  of  all  Beauty. 


HERE  'S  LUCK 

Here  's  luck, 
Here  's  to  man  at  his  best, 

Here  's  to  pluck 
To  be  great  and  no  lack  of  a  test, 

And  no  lack 

Of  a  back 

Or  a  knack 
To  whip  up  the  storm  and  unhorse  fate — 

Here  's  luck  to  the  great ! 

To  a  pinch 
To  be  man  at  the  wheel, 

To  a  clinch 
To  strike  back  till  the  bull-billows  reel 

Into  space, 

Set  a  pace 

To  the  chase, 
Smash  a  way  out  against  reefs  of  wrong — 

Here  's  luck  to  the  strong ! 

For  a  leap 
From  the  bottom  of  thought 

Into  deep 
New  planets  so  all  truth  may  be  caught! 

Up  to  flight 
143 


144  Here's  Luck 

All  your  might 
For  all  height 
To  poise,  to  pick  the  lock  of  the  skies — 
Here  's  luck  to  the  wise ! 

Up  and  true 
To  the  end  of  a  breath 

To  be  you 
To  the  last  puckered  palate  of  death, 

Nor  a  thought 

Of  the  what 

To  be  got! 
Highward  and  farward  to  dare  to  do — 

Here  's  luck  to  the  true! 

To  the  brave 
And  he  stand  to  his  test, 

Nor  a  grave 
That  shall  balk  him  from  doing  his  best, 

Nor  a  fear 

Of  the  sneer 

Of  a  peer; 
Hail  to  the  soul  that  shall  all  unslave — 

Here  's  luck  to  the  brave! 

To  the  kind, 
To  the  man  of  a  heart! 

More  than  mind 
Is  the  sweet  soiil  performing  its  part; 

More  than  thought 

To  be  wrought 

Is  a  jot 
Of  love,  though  all  your  talent  unwind — 

Here  's  luck  to  the  kind ! 


Here's  Luck  145 

Here  's  to  luck, 
Which  is  power  to  endure, 

Which  is  pluck 
To  be  true  and  kind  and  strong  and  pure 

Everyhow 

Here  and  now 

Foot  and  brow; 
Stalk  and  blossom  of  Right,  which  is  Power — 

Here  's  luck  to  the  flower ! 


SING,  GENTLE  BIRD! 

Sing,  gentle  bird. 

Your  song  will  be  heard ! 

Pick  your  way  alone, 

Your  flight  will  be  known ! 

Dip  your  wing 

In  shining  dew. 

The  winds  shall  ring 

At  sight  of  you, 

Your  trees  shall  sing 

At  night  to  you 
Your  song  they  caught  this  day, 
Your  honeysuckle-lay. 
Your  sweet  soul  which  shall  be  remembered 
When  these  June  days  are  Decembered. 

Up  to  your  trees 

In  forest  air. 

Up  to  the  breeze 

Which  waits  you  there 

To  plunge  and  dip 

At  your  honey-lip 

To  hurl  your  song 

Into  zenith-sky 

The  moon-light  long, 

The  noon-light  high, 
Your  melody  of  heart, 
Your  little  body-part 
To  show  us  how  the  whole  of  you 
Is  the  mellow  mighty  soul  of  you. 
146 


Sing,  Gentle  Bird!  147 

Have  a  sweep 

Across  the  sky, 

Take  a  leap 

To  fathom  why 

Pebbles  sleep 

While  people  die 

Who  only  reap 

A  twinge  and  sigh, 

Who  only  creep 

Aloft  to  die — 
Tell  us  the  blue-handed  air 
Clutches  Beauty  everywhere, 
Tell  us  your  yonder  bosom-sky 
Heaves  for  such  as  creep  aloft  to  die. 

Once  was  a  day 

I  tried  to  catch 

Your  cornfield  lay, 

Your  master-match — 

Did  I  but  do 

A  whit  as  well 

At  song  as  you 

My  heart  would  well, 

My  world  would  swell 

To  hear  me  through — 
There  were  the  leaves  to  glisten, 
There  was  I  too  to  listen, 
While  all  my  cunning  with  all  my  care 
Caught  not  one  note  of  your  sleigh-bell  air. 

Lonely  little  bird. 
What  a  song  was  there, 
What  a  note  I  heard 
Whisthng  up  the  air 


148  Sing,  Gentle  Bird! 

Like  a  heart  was  stirred 
In  Heaven  there, 
Shouting  to  be  heard 
In  the  world  below, 
Just  the  tiny  word 
For  me  to  know : 
"Take  a  way  to  follow  me. 
Other  worlds  are  yet  to  see, 
Mighty  climbing  for  mighty  view, 
Hold  to  the  power  to  fly  in  you!" 

Once  I  thought  to  fly 
Taking  to  your  wing, 
Once  I  fancied  I 
Could  rise  to  sing. 
Could  tune  my  soul 
To  give  it  birth, 
To  catch  your  whole 
High  heaven-worth 
Of  joy  and  scope 
And  mighty  hope — 
Yet  were  you  off  alone 
To  sweep  the  star-bow  zone. 
And  I  here  of  my  little  worth 
Planting  my  strophes  in  the  earth. 

My  lute,  alas, 
My  heart  is  numb ; 
My  song  shall  pass 
Ere  June  will  come, 
People  to  say 
"His  virelay 
Is  dumb"; 
But  you  shall  play 


Sing,  Gentle  Bird!  149 

Immortal  chime 
Your  perfect  way, 
Your  heirloom  to  eternal  time, 
Strophe  and  trophy  of  raptured  rhyme, 
Your  great  heart  which  shall  be  remembered 
When  these  June  days  are  Decembered. 


"SUCCESS"  AT  A  BRUSH 

Now  for  a  rush  to  the  turn — 
How  his  eyes  twist,  harnesses  burn 
And  he  fetches  a  loop  of  neck 

And  a  paw  up,  the  near  paw,  j 

With  the  snort  and  whine  of  a  fastened  jaw  | 

Now  I  take  him  in  check ! —  I 

A  rush  to  the  turn,  • 

Forty  together  to  get  a  place  ■ 

In  the  thick  and  nick  of  it.  head  the  race —  J 

A  lip  of  foam  now  the  molars  churn 
And  eye  whitens — then  the  sweep  » 

Back  to  his  haunches  straight  as  a  rush  • 

Like  he  would  take  the  stretch  at  a  leap  ^. 

To  shorten  the  brush,  \ 

Then  down  again,  one  growling  cough 
For  being  checked  and  we  are  off 
Like  a  school  of  porpoise  in  a  river 
Or  bunch  of  arrows  from  a  quiver 
— A  pull-back  and  a  let-go — 
Steady,  boy,  no  break  you  know. 
Never  mind  the  bay  one  there 
Who  stole  the  start — steady. 
Eye  cool,  pulse-beat  ready 
And  you  will  down  him  fair  and  square —   j 
Nor  mind  that  jockey  at  his  whip 
150 


"Success"  at  a  Brush  151 

And  blood-letting,  you  '11  give  him  the  slip — 

Nor  the  black  one  who  thinks  to  beat 

By  crook  and  cheat— 

Nor  that  brawler  with  power  of  lungs 

To  hurricane  a  hundred  tongues — 

Steady,  boy,  the  quarter  's  past, 

Hold  to  it,  let  slip  your  knees 

To  down  the  brown  one, 

The  favorite  whole-town-one, 

Nose  ahead  of  him,  split  the  breeze 

To  down  him,  don't  forget 

Your  laurels  and  my  bet — 

Now  to  it,  at  it,  puff  a  rush. 

One  speed-burst,  clap  your  wings 

To  grapple  with  the  soul  of  things — 

At  it,  squeeze  out  of  the  crush, 

Room  enough  is  just  ahead, 

Fetch  one  squat  and  buttock-spread, 

At  it  or  you  lose  the  brush — 

See  his  hide  glisten-quiver 

Like  wrinkles  on  a  squirting  river! — 

Now,  boy,  now  to  it,  one  more  burst 

Like  that,  one  more  chin-shoot  out 

And — see,  they  are  cheering,  you  are  first, 

The  rest  of  forty  put  to  rout 

By  force  of  such  Titan  strength 

As  hurled  you  past  the  post  a  length — 

And  as  I  stepped  to  his  spall 

To  pat  and  thank  him  for  it  all. 

Pinned  a  ribbon  to  his  bridle, 

Got  his  nose  in  my  arms. 

Got  an  apple  to  his  lips. 

You  should  have  seen  him  sidle 

To  rub  an  eye  in  my  palms, 


152  "Success"  at  a  Brush 

Two  ears  put  over  to  me  like  slips 

Of  myrtle — and  I  thought,  could  the  whole 

Round  world  or  sky  find  more 

In  what  will  come  or  has  gone  before 

Of  pluck-up  gentlest  human  soul? 


QUEECHEE  RIVER 

What  an  hour  in  what  soothing  sun 

I  have  come  in  this  afternoon 
To  lay  me  down  where  bloodflowers  run, 

Ground-robin  hops  his  rigadoon 
Snug  in  his  river  bank 

While  I  watch  him  at  his  bobbin-prank! 

Woodstock  is  one  bundle  of  flowers; 

Straight  through  runs  the  river 
Past  where  such  club-moss  cowers 

As  I  have  seen  in  the  forest  never; 
Cock's-foot  grass,  all  finger  and  palm, 

Wind  sweet  as  falls  from  a  lily-farm. 

Do  I  not  lie  here  and  think 

What  all  the  best  of  it  means, 
Such  river  and  its  silver  blink 

Between  two  cheeks  of  evergreens, 
That  pine-finch  at  his  fife 

To  share  with  me  his  picnic-life? 

Do  I  not  think  what  goes 

To  make  such  marvel  of  repose 

And  color  in  the  underwood, 

How  all  creation  seemeth  good. 

Yet  one  strange  thing  is  this : 

Always  is  something  I  lack  or  miss? 
153 


154  Queechee  River 

So  must  I  look  ahead; 

Always  I  look  beyond 
Swamp-rose  in  any  meadow-bed, 

Dimples  in  any  silver  pond! 
Small  matter  how  the  world  is  fair, 

I  look  beyond  it  everywhere 

Into  eternity — how  coiild  I  see 

Without  eternity  in  me? 
Is  there  room  for  my  smallest  doubt 

With  all  the  moons  in  me  and  about? 
Could  I  have  any  lack  of  sight 

In  such  avalanche  of  light? 

So  I  lie  looking  yonder; 

I  look  so  I  scarcely  see 
The  pretty  river  tumbling  under 

Its  bank  of  lazy  briony, 
While  I  bathe  in  my  afternoon 

Which  brings  me  so  much,  is  gone  so  soon. 

So  as  I  lie  looking  to  see 

What  lies  beyond  the  world  for  me, 
Lo,  comes  Geraldine — there  she  came 

To  the  opposite  bank,  all  the  same 
As  the  white  flowers  at  her  feet, 

Just  as  gentle  and  twice  as  sweet! 

We  talk  across  the  stream, 

While  I  have  this  to  say: 
"See  the  bubbles  how  they  gleam, 

These  dimples  how  they  twitch  and  spray 
Amber-blue-beetle-like, 

And  the  river  flies  like  a  shooting  pike ! 


I 


Queechee  River  155 

"Yet  always  it  stands  between  us, 

As  if  the  white-eyed  waters  mean  us 

Forever  to  stand  apart, 

Two  at  hand,  one  at  heart, 

For  so  we  most  happen  to  meet 

Opposite  sides  of  our  pitching  street. 

"Yet  have  you  thought  of  it  whether 

We  come  aught  the  nearer  together 
By  what  the  world  trembles  to  miss. 

This  cheek-touch  or  checkered  kiss? 
There  goes  Elegance  in  the  river ; 

I  may  not  clutch  or  touch  it  ever! 

"Always  I  fancy  you  come 

Straight  to  the  other  side 
To  let  the  river  between  us  drum 

And  whistle — there  you  abide, 
As  if  there  were  so  much  you  saw 

In  me  not  worth  the  crossing  for! 

"I  'm  not  tall  and  straight,  perhaps. 

Mannered  as  your  city  chaps, 
Carry  not  such  keen  jacket-cut, 

Importance  of  lordly  strut 
To  make  my  bow  to  fashion 

Which  drives  the  world  and  puts  the  lash  on. 

"Or  am  I  too  slow  to  speak. 

Like  him  I  once  heard  telling  you 
You  wore  spirit  in  each  cheek. 

Eyes  violet  as  clover  dew. 
And  you  that  slow  to  believe 

He  wore  his  spirit  on  his  sleeve  ? 


156  Oueechce  River 

"Or  am  I  well  up  in  years, 

Well  silvered,  deliberate  gait 

Like  one  who  knows  he  cannot  be  late 
Or  less  than  yonder  endless  spheres 

To  endure  and  to  take  all  test, 

Which  is  soul  at  its  mightiest? 

"Since  I  am  older  so  much  than  you, 
Am  I  then  less  than  once  I  was? 

If  being  man  is  being  true 

And  lovemost,  is  there  any  loss? 

Turns  the  spirit  damp  or  cold? 

Grows  love  in  the  soul  a  moment  old? 

"You  may  take  to  your  sugar-bush. 
You  may  call  your  birds  to  you 

At  evening  when  the  hills  are  hush, 
Bed  your  apple-bees  in  blue, 

Tuck  your  heart  in  the  upland-lush, 
Yet  I  shall  have  a  place  there  too! 

"Away  you  may  wander  at  will. 

Beyond  turnpike,  weather-cock  hill, 

Take  your  place  among  others. 

Make  of  them  friends  or  brothers, 

Yet  you  will  wander  back  to  me 

As  this  river  seeks  out  its  mate,  the  sea. 

"Would  you  put  me  out  of  your  thought, 

Even  so  I  am  there  to  last. 
This  verse  to  you  for  forget-me-not 

Long  after  my  day  is  past. 
As  comes  the  purple  finch  each  spring 

Back  to  you  on  his  singing  wing. 


Queechee  River  157 

"I  may  be  not  so  tall  or  so  straight 

As  the  other  is,  or  I  may  be  late; 
I  may  forget  my  boon-bow  too, 

Or  bungle  in  my  speaking  you; 
But  here  is  my  song  without  an  art, 

And,  oh,  if  you  could  see  my  heart!" 


LORD  LAVISH 

Lord  Lavish  my  Lord, 

By  common  accord! 
This  is  Lord  Lavish,  I  understand, 

So  there  's  my  welcome  as  here  's  my  hand! 
What  you  look  now  matters  not, 

Your  rag-bag  jacket  or  shattered  lot — 
I  knew  you  once  in  your  up-country  spot. 

In  your  day  now  gone 

You  were  looked  upon 
As  Prince  of  Power  by  the  gold  3'ou  had; 

Nothing  you  did  which  was  good  or  bad; 
You  were  gentleman  straight  through 

All  as  far  as  anyone  knew. 
And  the  world  looked  up  to  your  gold  and  you. 

In  your  park  were  deer. 

Was  the  chanticleer. 
Wood-owl  looked  to  pickabud-bird. 

Winds  in  the  wind-flower  could  be  heard, 
As  there  there  grew  the  dapple 

Orange-ball  for  you  to  grapple. 
Flower  and  feast  in  your  elephant-apple. 

What  for  a  palace 

For  bell  and  chalice 
Of  ripe  high  carnival  topped  your  lawn 

Like  a  temple  of  gems  to  look  upon; 
.158 


Lord  Lavish  159 

What  for  such  uncontemplated  art 

As  caught  a  man  by  the  throat  and  heart, 
As  if  soul  had  performed  its  masterpart ! 

You  were  rich  and  great, 

You  were  lord  of  state 
To  ogle  and  eagle  and  command; 

Yet  now,  your  lordship,  here  's  my  hand, 
While  here  is  a  luck  to  you 

If  you  will  let  me  say  and  do 
My  best  to  put  wisdom  up  to  you: 

I  knew  you  in  those  days 

Under  fountain-blaze 
At  your  palace,  knew  the  romp  and  kick 

Of  pastime  when  you  took  your  pick 
Of  pleasure  to  the  luscious  quick ! 

What  sweep  you  fetched  and  what  way 
You  flung  your  gold  and  your  good  away ! 

What  a  Hfe  was  there 

Of  aroma  air, 
What  hyacinths  to  their  stalks  were  pinned, 

How  you  took  not  a  thought  for  care, 
Oh,  how  you  scattered  your  world  to  the  wind 

Like  the  child  does,  sands  in  hand 
For  not  one  purpose  he  co\ild  command! 

See  this  corner-lot 

Of  forget-me-not 
In  the  moon's  keep,  where  laurels  wave 

About  the  head  of  one  pretty  grave 
In  prophet-flowers,  where  weep 

The  grasses  as  the  dew  is  deep, 
And  all  is  quiet  and  perfect  sleep ! 


i6o  Lord  Lavish 

This  was  your  sweet  child 

Was  so  fine  and  mild 
As  to  want  only  to  be  her  most 

As  the  starling  rings  or  maples  boast 
And  you  had  her  emeralded,  handcuffed  so 

In  gold  as  never  she  grew  to  show 
What  sweetness  you  lost  when  you  laid  her  low. 


By  your  lie  you  taught : 

Life  is  fling  and  sport 
And  no  better,  and  nothing  to  do 

But  get  her  fill,  any  way  at  it 
To  pluck  at  pleasure,  live  for  it  too, 

While  to  strive  is  curse,  she  must  combat  it — 
There  was  all  in  her  life  she  knew. 


Your  boy  is  here 

With  his  crop  of  cheer, 
Your  one  heir  to  the  gold  you  gave 

Which  digs  him  his  deep  early  grave; 
He  grew  at  your  table  of  drinks 

To  learn  how  the  Lunel  stings  and  pinks — 
I  wonder  if  ever  he  halts  and  thinks ! 


The  wife  too  is  gone 

At  her  early  dawn 
As  a  bird  has  left  her  nest  for  good 

To  go  to  her  final  widowhood — 
You  put  silver  to  her  wing, 

Gave  her  the  dappled  cheek  and  ring, 
And  she  your  simple  butterfly  thing 


Lord  Lavish  i6i 


For  you  to  admire, 

For  her  doll  attire 
For  the  toy  she  was  for  you  from  start, 

So  she  played  her  popinjay-part 
Of  wind-moth  which  is  so  soon  gone 

In  the  dancing  flame  he  dances  on- 
Better,  say  I,  she  were  never  born. 


How  you  did  ravish 

The  world,  Lord  Lavish, 
To  pick  sweets  out — as  if  I  am  much 

By  what  I  snuff  or  gulp  or  touch, 
And  not  by  the  thing  I  do 

Which  props  me  high,  holds  me  true 
'Til  I  come  to  yonder  circle  of  blue ! 


Let  a  man  go  wrong, 

Be  he  weak  or  strong. 
He  shall  pay  full  for  it — there  's  one  law 

Beauty  goes  by  to  blossom  for 
More  beyond  and  out  of  view, 

More  than  ever  men  dreamed  or  knew, 
More  power  to  be  evermore  mounting  to. 


Your  hand,  old  friend. 

For  life  to  one  end ! 
Man  is  young  in  the  world,  I  have  said. 

Is  forced  to  learn  by  the  sharp  tough  tread 
Of  circumstance  to  grow  great, 

To  climb  over  all  of  ugly  fate 
To  be  his  own  God  and  Potentate. 


1 62  Lord  Lavish 

So  give  mc  your  hand, 

Take  the  tall  new  stand! 
Since  your  way  in  the  world  was  lavish-bad, 

So  have  you  lost  all  the  world  you  had — 
Never  mind,  have  at  it  again! 

His  song  returns  to  each  moulted  wren, 
And  always  the  chance  for  men  to  be  men. 


VILLAGE  FOOL 


I  KNEW  a  fool  once, 
Crab-apple  head, 
Village  butt  and  dunce. 
Wit  as  well  as  dead, 
Such  uncommon  curious  man 
He  never  looked  to  you. 
His  hat  like  a  paper  can, 
One  foot  in  a  paper  shoe. 
Walked  backwards  because  he  was  worsed, 
Because  his  luck  had  been  reversed. 
His  right  hand  over  his  heart 
As  if  to  shield  it  in  part. 
For  fear,  maybe,  you  should  strike  him, 
Or  the  village-girl  should  like  him; 
Knew  his  neighbors  and  friends. 
Understood  their  aims  and  ends, 
Had  a  wisdom  of  his  own, 
Never  a  full  hand. 
As  if  his  soul  had  flown 
Leaving  him  only  crumbs 
Of  skylight  to  understand. 
His  grip  just  of  knuckles  and  thumbs. 
Who  he  was,  whence  he  came 
None  knew — always  the  same 
163 


i64  Village  Fool 

Faceful  of  kindness  which  endears, 
His  look  half  smileful,  half  tears, 
Yet  one  wondered  how  he  could  come 
To  be  so  soul-spoken,  yet  dumb. 


II 


Maybe  he  wore  two  souls  in  him, 

One  a  bright  soul,  the  other  dim, 

Each  a  separate  soul — who  knows? 

Leastwise  so  my  story  goes 

To  show  he  was  no  less  a  wonder 

Than  you  who  never  made  a  blunder; 

For  mark,  there  was  this  about  him 

Made  you  take  a  breath  to  doubt  him 

If  he  were  wholefully  such  a  fool 

As  you  would  think  by  his  bonnetful 

Of  rubbishness  he  would  talk, 

His  paper  shoe,  backward  walk — 

There  was  this  odd  circumstance: 

Once  he  came  to  fix  his  glance 

On  a  single  star  in  the  sky, 

He  could  not  look  apart  from  the  spot 

If  he  wanted  to  or  not, 

Nor  could  he  answer  you  why 

He  was  so  fastened,  why  he  stood 

Hours  together  to  look  so  far 

To  another  world,  one  tiny  star. 

What  he  thought  or  understood 

One  could  not  guess — only  this 

One  mystic  mighty  wonder  is : 

He  would  come  to  another  mood 

So  soon  as  his  gaze  was  fixed, 

One  new  self,  another  man, 


Village  Fool  165 

More  wonderfully  subtle  than 

Men  reach  in  their  meridian — 

Two  selves  he  was  could  not  be  mixed, 

So  as  it  seemed  to  you 

He  was  his  second  self,  all  new, 

As  if  as  soon  as  his  first  was  tied 

To  a  star  so  he  could  not  move, 

His  second  soiil  became  god  and  guide 

To  show  to  you  and  to  prove 

You  may  not  ever  compass  the  whole 

Of  what  defies  all  limits — man's  soul. 

For  look  now  what  he  could  be. 

Once  his  other  self  was  put  free 

To  think  and  talk  and  feel  and  see: 

He  saw  more  than  other  men  saw, 

Knew  more  than  other  men  knew. 

Was  not  whipped  about  by  law 

Compelling  what  he  should  think,  should   do. 

But  was  native  grace,  natural- true. 

Nearer  to  Beauty  was  he  too 

Than  you  who  are  only  human  you. 


Ill 


Men  saw  him  now  at  his  best ! 

He  was  out  of  the  world,  I  would  say, 

Yet  of  it,  the  same  dew  and  clay. 

All  the  vast  man  manifest 

For  so  much  more  he  could  see  to  do 

Than  when  he  was  buttonholed  to  you, 

As  if  by  looking  away  so  far 

He  had  been  buttonholed  by  a  star! 


1 66  Village  Fool 

IV 

He  knew  the  now, 
Knew  too  the  past, 
Saw  the  whole  how 
Your  Hfe  was  cast ; 
When  men  were  born. 
What  they  had  done 
From  night  'til  morn 
The  long  ripe  run 
Their  steps  had  gone 
Below  the  sun. 
He  saw  your  thought, 
Each  minim- wish, 
If  honest-wrought 
Or  devilish, 
All  as  if  he 
Composed  new  might 
By  which  to  flee 
To  any  height. 
By  which  to  be 
All  spirit-flight, 
More  than  I  see 
By  candle-sight. 
More  than  my  law 
I  worship  so 
Is  working  for. 
Could  ever  grow. 
Wonders  he  told 
Of  what  he  saw 
In  blue  and  gold 
Superior 

To  what  men  know 
Of  what  they  see, 


Village  Fool  167 

Just  undertow 

Of  eternity. 

His  heart  was  free, 

Soul  was  high, 

Infinity 

About  him  nigh. 

Divinity 

To  fill  his  eye, 

While  what  he  was 

Which  I  could  know, 

Or  what  the  cause 

Should  change  him  so, 

I  could  not  tell 

More  than  could  he, 

Such  wonder-spell 

Like  deity. 


Of  this  one  evening  I  am  to  tell ! 

Such  lavender-breath  swept  the  village, 
As  if  the  air  now  begun  to  pillage 

Apricot-flower  and  zinfandel — 
Men  stood  to  watch  a  red  last  lip 

The  sun  put  up  ere  he  took  his  dip — 
One  cloud  belched  one  blue  fire 

Into  forests  underneath 
'Til  I  would  think  my  Heaven  was  nigher 

Than  men  dream  or  prophets  breathe — 
Bees  grew  rich  at  their  honey-knack, 

Each  wind  pursued  its  apple-track — 
Wonder  came  now  and  everywhere, 

For  spirit  was  in  bush  and  air. 


1 68  Village  Fool 

At  this  hour  our  fool  would  come  out, 

Shuffle  backward,  go  gaping  about 
Or  above  him  so  he  might  find 

A  star  to  capture  his  cripple-mind 
So  the  other  fine  high  soul  of  him 

Might  come  forth,  capture  the  whole  of  him. 
Bill-bubble  was  most  his  talk, 

A  throat  of  only  windy  pith 
Men  could  nowise  reason  with. 

While  there  he  would  shoot  and  balk, 
Looking  as  if  he  annoyed  you, 

Meaning  only  to  avoid  you. 
Fireflies  sparked  in  air, 

Captured  his  hungry  stare 
Like  stars,  then  left  him  there 

To  wonder  how  a  star  cotdd  fly, 
Could  wink  out  so,  could  multiply. 

Stood  he  there  to  study  them. 
Each  fly  like  a  lighted  gem 

Dancing  in  a  diadem, 
When — what  should  face  to  face  with  him 

In  the  new  blue  evening  dim 
But  two  bright  eyes,  those  other  stars 

Which  give  their  deeper  look  than  Mars  w 

Or  Procyon,  eyes  which  I  see  ■ 

Look  more  than  bone  or  blood  could  be. 
Two  volumes  of  eternity 

To  hold  him,  to  fasten  his  look 
To  such  new  open  Beauty-book 

As  never  he  saw  before 
For  cheeks  of  sun-spirit  pink, 

Lips  of  island  madrepore 
Would  closet  a  man  to  listen  more 

Than  song  of  wren  or  bobolink. 


I 


Village  Fool  169 

There  he  was  fastened,  nor  could  move 

More  than  if  his  star  had  held  him, 
Or  his  heaven  of  worlds  compelled  him — 

A  thing  which  answers  to  prove 
One  soul  in  a  man  may  be  captured, 

Held  fast  by  being  wholly  raptured. 
By  which  way  his  mightier  self  is  freed 

To  be  more  than  men  could  comprehend, 
To  know  the  value  of  life  is  its  need 

For  struggle  to  'complish  an  end. 
For  wisdom  to  find  the  true  value 

Of  "shall,"  of  "shall  not"  or  just  "shall  you," 
To  know  and  see  so  much  more 

Than  men  took  thought  or  dream  of  before. 
She  too,  riveted  by  his  gaze. 

Now  for  first  time  saw  in  his  eyes 
New  other  wonderful  ways 

Soul  has  to  be  vastly  wise. 
Saw  his  deep  heart-look  which  came  now, 

Such  kingliness  across  his  brow 
To  take  her  by  monstrous  surprise. 

Such  a  new  man  was  he,  foot  to  head, 
As  if  he  rose  to  her  from  the  dead. 


VI 


There  they  were  standing  face  to  face, 

She  beautiful  as  young  girl  grace 
Looking  into  his  new  other  spirit 

Half  to  love,  half  to  fear  it. 
Now  the  breath  of  her  came  quick, 

Heart  leaping,  thought  thick 
To  think  of  him  as  he  was  once, 

Only  village  butt  and  dunce, 


lyo  Village  Fool 

To  think  of  him  as  he  was  now, 

Of  spirit  eye,  Godward  brow,  M 

Yet  no  knowing  why  or  how  V 

He  could  be  changed  that  instantly, 
Not  a  cause  for  it  she  could  sec 

Save  soon  as  he  looked  in  her  eyes 
Came  there  the  soul  in  him  longs  and  sighs, 

Is  man-like,  is  mammoth-wise 
As  men  are  never  below  the  skies. 

VII 

With  nought  above  him 

In  all  her  skies. 
Only  to  look  in  his  eyes 

Was  to  love  him — 
Only  to  know  him 

As  he  was  now 
Of  soul-shapen  brow, 

What  girl  could  forego  him 
To  think  of  him  now 

As  he  came  to  her  there 
With  his  new  fine  face, 

His  gentlemost  care. 
His  summer-tree  grace 

To  tell  her  his  heart 
Which  came  to  him  then. 

The  noblest  best  part 
There  is  of  men, 

Now  she  barkened  to  catch 
His  fine  first  word 

No  Pindar  may  match 
Nor  planet  has  heard 

As  he  watched  her  lips 


Village  Fool  171 

Like  a  bee  'round  a  pink 

Will  hover  to  think 
Before  he  dips, 

As  if  loth  to  lose  sight 
Of  such  Beauty  by  dipping 

For  one  tiny  bite, 
For  just  honey-sipping ! 

His  way  he  spoke 
She  had  never  heard, 

'Til  her  heart  was  stirred 
Like  a  plum-leaf  purred 

If  a  robin  woke : 

VIII 

"I  am  the  man  I  was  once, 

Not  your  village  butt  and  dunce — 

I  am  the  man  I  was  then 

When  the  world  had  blossomed  men 

To  be  great  as  truth  again; 

I  am  the  man  I  once  was 

When  the  world  had  noble  cause. 

Knew  no  need  of  whips  and  laws — 

I  am  myself — look  to  see 

What  my  sovereign  self  may  be. 

Once  the  yoke  is  off,  foot  free ! 

Know  I  now  I  lived  before 

In  another  world  away — 

Once  I  saw  you  on  a  shore 

Looked  against  a  purple  bay. 

Flowers  of  fire  were  on  the  air, 

Children  rang  a  song  to  say 

Power  is  Beauty  everywhere, 

Power  in  Beauty  come  to  stay! 


172  Village  Fool 


You  were  young,  I  too  was  young- 
Little  people  know  a  thing 
Mightier  than  your  reasoning, 
Loftier  than  lip  and  tongue — 
So  we  knew  we  both  were  made 
Each  to  have  the  other,  knew 
Love  must  be  an  even  trade 
To  be  quits  and  worth  while  too — 
We  were  in  one  sunbeam  birch. 
Pretty  jasper  light  for  leaves. 
Each  was  in  a  climbing  perch 
Puts  up  fingers  and  achieves — 
Such  the  Beauty  was  about, 
Little  sparks  of  souls  at  play 
Mocked  a  tulip  for  its  pout, 
Found  a  new  unworldly  way 
Now  to  take  a  crimson  track, 
Now  to  seize  a  flying  sun, 
Never  stepped  an  atom  back 
Since  the  soul  of  them  begun — 
Souls  were  singing — we  could  hear 
Such  a  melody  of  sky 
As  star-spots  look,  high  and  clear 
And  always,  tuned  to  never  die — 
I  remember  now  I  saw 
Such  a  boy-face,  so  complete, 
Truly  so  surpassing  sweet 
There  was  no  accounting  for 
The  Beauty  in  him — each  look 
Made  one  volume  like  a  book 
Men  could  never  understand, 
Such  flood  of  soul  was  in  it. 
Such  eye-look  of  the  linnet. 
Such  his  handsome  hair  and  hand, 


Village  Fool  i73 

And  all  new,  wholly  other 

Than  any  human  brother 

I  saw  ever,  I  would  say 

Such  fine  spirit-wonder  play 

Could  not  blossom  through  the  clay, 

Such  his  manliness,  so  fair, 

Above  handsome  hand  or  hair 

Or  look  of  him,  I  could  see 

One  triumph  of  Divinity — 

Beauty  was  to  do  your  best, 

Beauty  was  to  conquer  wrong, 

Men  were  put  to  every  test 

Just  to  mould  them  high  and  strong 

To  look  beyond,  they  to  see 

More  than  Self  or  any  Hope 

Save  only  this,  to  do,  to  be 

Their  most — men  were  made  to  grope 

By  darkness  to  know  of  light. 

By  falling  to  know  of  flight. 

By  wing- work  to  know  of  might. 


IX 


"We  were  in  our  tree  above,   - 
Stems  of  wisdom  filled  the  air. 
Yet  we  talked  of  only  love. 
Love  was  all  things  everywhere. 
Just  our  love — we  fancied  truth 
Was  a  thing  of  love  and  youth, 
Took  life  for  a  rattling  toy, 
A  trick  to  manufacture  joy, 
We  just  giggling  girl  and  boy. 
Grew  our  tree  up  such  a  tree, 
Fine  as  fingers  of  a  sun. 


174  Village  Fool 

Bore  us  up  too,  you  and  me, 

As  if  everything  were  done 

All  for  our  satiety — 

Grew  the  branches  fine  and  high, 

Thin  as  threads  of  onyx  light  ■ 

'Til  they  lost  their  elbow-might,  " 

Vanished  into  perfect  sky — 

Left  were  we  to  drop  or  fly ! 

Learned  we  never  once  one  stroke 

Meant  to  rise  or  plow  the  wind, 

So  as  now  the  branches  thinned 

And  vanished,  or  bent  and  broke. 

We  were  dropped — so  much  was  all ! 

Dropped,  so  that  way  came  our  fall 

To  earth,  to  this  solid  plain 

Now  to  strive  to  rise  again. 

Once  we  summered  among  elves. 

Where  soul  soars,  Beauty  delves, 

Yet  thought  only  of  ourselves. 

Looked  never  once  around. 

Knew  nothing  above  ground. 

Held  only  to  our  love. 

Youth  was  joy,  joy  was  enough 

For  us  two  to  be  thinking  of! — 

And  now  this  solidest  plain, 

We  to  try  to  climb  again 


"  To  grow  to  each  other  by  nobler  ways — 
What  long  way  off,  what  heavy  days 
Ere  check  to  cheek  again,  lip  to  lip, 

We  shall  have  learned  how  selfless  duty 


Village  Fool  175 


Is  the  apple-branch  of  Beauty 

To  come  before  our  honey-dip ! ' 


XI 


So  spake  he  to  her,  the  strong  man  bright, 

His  fool-self  kept  out  of  sight 
By  looking  her  full  in  the  eyes 

Where  soul  builds  Beauty  otherwise 
Than  I  see  in  a  lip  or  hand, 

Beauty  which  is  out  of  reach, 
Beauty  which  is  out  of  speech, 

Yet  volumes  I  understand, 
Beauty  and  none  like  it  so 

Beyond  what  I  may  touch,  may  know. 
And  he  so  fastened  to  it  there, 

A  thing  beyond  him  to  call  him  forth, 
The  gem  in  him,  all  his  spirit-worth. 

He  was  no  longer  village-fool, 
But  man-mighty,  one  bosomful 

Of  wisdom  and  power  and  love 
'Til — you  know  man  gets  never  enough — 

He  must  have  pastime  at  her  lips. 
At  her  white  warm  neck  and  shoulder 

By  which  he  meant  to  clasp  and  hold  her — 
Why  should  those  lips  grow  blossom-red 

If  not  for  him  to  feed  upon? 
What  is  this  life,  now  all  is  said, 

More  than  a  kiss  and  we  are  gone? 
She  too  so  grew  drawn  to  him 

Through  the  blue  new  evening's  rim, 
She  too — what  woman  shakes 

Her  No  back  when  the  red  heart  wakes? — 
For  sooner  than  either  co\ild  speak 


176  Village  Fool 

They  were  together,  check  on  cheek, 
He  at  her  neck  and  undcrHp 

As  sun  tics  to  a  clovcr-sHp — 
One  embrace  of  sun  and  clover, 

One  rush  and  all  was  over, 
For  that  one  moment  he  lost  sight 

Of  her  eyes,  of  the  spirit-light 
Which  came  of  her  wonderful  eyes. 

Not  to  be  known  of  otherwise, 
When  quicker  than  eye  could  see 

Back  shot  his  fool-stupidity. 
Back  he  was  at  his  paper  shoe 

To  stroke  it,  talk  crow-talk  too. 
Back  backward,  hand  on  his  heart, 

And  so  he  played  his  thimbleful  part, 
Auk-awkward  dotterel  among  men — 

There  was  her  poor  fool  again! 


XII 


Beauty  comes  first — look  to  that 
Which  all  worlds  go  aiming  at ! 

Beauty  is  power,  you  to  see 
How  this  soul  is  meant  to  be 

Part  of  all  God's  sublimity! 
Girl  and  boy  were  they,  these  two: 

Only  of  themselves  they  thought, 
Not  once  of  the  rounded  blue. 

Not  of  what  is  lordly  true 
Or  vastwise  in  Majesty  wrought. 

Only  of  each  other  fond, 
Looking  never  farther  to  see 


Village  Fool  177 

How  Best  is  always  beyond, 
How  soul  is  only  put  in  bond, 

Partner  of  Eternity. 
He  must  work  his  fool-way  out, 

Come  to  truth  by  way  of  doubt. 
Learn  how  soul  comes  more  and  more 

Past  what  is  or  went  before, 
Gets  Godward  by  taking  wing 

Above  all  human  narrowing. 
Other  worlds  and  other  ways 

Wait  for  men — there  are  such  days 
As  shall  satisfy  all  phase 

Of  noblemost  thought  or  hope, 
To  which  I  stumble  and  you  grope, 

Fools  first  that  we  may  come  wise, 
Little  loftier  than  flies 

At  start — life  tricks  and  tries 
The  very  soul  of  a  man 

To  put  him  to  his  best  he  can, 
Each  purpose  such  long  way  off. 

One  world  never  world  enough 
To  fill  this  soul  or  wake  it 

To  what  the  heart  would  make  it — 
Ev'n  so  they  two  must  wait 

To  come  to  such  perfect  state 
Of  love,  which  is  love  of  all. 

Love  above  what  is  self,  is  small, 
Each  one  put  to  mighty  test 

To  bring  him  to  mighty  best, 
Many  lives  to  paddle  through 

To  get  a  single  soulful  of  you. 
Better  you  wait — not  too  fast! 

Try  to  have  another  look 
Wider  than  your  peek-hole  nook — 


Village  Fool 

Eternity  is  never  past, 
The  soul  of  things  is  meant  to  last. 

Life  bubbles  and  puffs  and  pants, 

Heart  rushes  above  circumstance — 
Did  you  think  life  was  your  only  chance? 


BEN  TOTAL 

Grasp  the  supernal  hour, 

Take  life  by  a  clinch, 
Gather,  my  friend,  your  power 

Nor  lose  you  an  inch 
Of  any  way  to  seize 

The  inborn  gem  of  you,  like  these 
Red  poppies  hold  to  their  red 

Nor  take  that  poke-leaf  color  instead. 

Ben  Total  I  shall  tell  you  of. 

High  Ben,  as  he  was  known 
For  his  way  his  hat  would  doff. 

His  chin-weed  whittled  to  a  cone 
To  point  you  always  to  his  toes. 

The  choice  end  of  him,  you  would  suppose, 
By  his  new  boot  copper  glow. 

By  his  strut  he  took  to  go, 
By  the  puff  he  blew  to  show. 

One  thing  he  thought  to  be — 

Himself  just — so  much  to  his  credit ! 

Never  he  looked  to  a  man  to  see 

His  gizzard,  or  the  way  he  fed  it, 

But  always  his  own  way  he  took 

To  perch,  crow,  flap,  shine,  spit,  and  look, 
179 


i8o  Ben  Total 

By  which,  and  think  as  you  may, 

He  took  his  own  tune  and  way 
Of  playing,  and  said  his  say. 

What  a  power  is  this 

That  a  man  shall  be 
What  is  wholly  his, 

Catch  divinity, 
Power  to  perch  alone 

Like  the  silver  star 
In  a  purple  throne 

Where  his  sunfields  are, 
His  high  self  to  show 

As  God  made  him,  so 
Never  to  crawl  to  come 

Under  your  heel  and  thumb 
While  the  world  's  a  stair. 

While  the  truth  is  fair. 
While  the  stars  are  there ! 

Yet  was  his  thought,  Ben's  thought,  I  have  said, 

Bent  more  on  his  boots  than  on  his  soul, 
How  he  should  carry  his  top  feather  red 

To  come  to  distinction  of  nowl. 
Twist  two  tie-bows  in  his  shirt 

To  give  one  diamond  the  proper  squirt 
Of  fire,  for  that  way  he  might 

Play  globird,  one  speck  of  light 
So  he  should  be  wholly  kept  in  sight. 

One  so  small  side  of  Ben  was  this : 
He  liked  to  see  the  people  take 

His  says  and  ways,  copy  his 

New  noon-walk,  his  elbow-shake, 


Ben  Total  i8i 

Use  him  as  men  use  a  map 

For  the  dots  on  it  and  breadth  of  lap, 
While  so  he  was  pleased  to  see 

Men,  his  neighbors,  come  to  be 
Talking  walking  just  as  he. 

Soon  it  came  about  for  fact 

Men,  his  neighbors,  nothing  lacked 
But  they  were  Ben  in  boot  and  hat 

And  waddle  and  corner-chat, 
Ben  all  over  for  looking  at! 

His  way  always  men  would  come, 
Watch  the  twiddle  of  his  thumb, 

Envy  such  duodenum! 

One  day  came  a  thought  to  marry, 

Took  hard  hold  of  him  in  truth, 
Nor  was  reason  he  should  tarry, 

Being  well  on  past  his  youth — 
Just  the  thought  to  take  a  wife, 

To  chance  it  for  luck  and  life! 
Was  he  not  of  such  renown 

To  be  copied  up  and  down, 
Set  the  go-gait  of  a  town? 

Was  he  not  now  all  there  was 

Left  of  a  man  in  that  one  place, 
All  men  like  him  in  cut  and  clause. 

Neither  inkling  left  nor  trace 
Of  one  man  in  the  village  then 

But  he  was,  crop  and  fling  of  him,  Ben? 
All  men  like  him,  pelt  and  limb. 

So  count  it  not  an  idle  whim 
They  were  only  part  of  him. 


1 82  Ben  Total 

Ben  Total,  for  so  they  named  him  when 

None  could  tell  him  from  other  men ! 
One  girl  fair  in  the  village  grew 

Above  others,  gentle  and  true, 
Whom  he  loved,  and  the  upshot  this: 

He  meant,  if  he  could,  to  make  her  his 
With  her  wealth  of  wrinkled  hair. 

Volume-eyes,  such  spirit  there, 
April  heart  without  a  care! 

So  said  he  to  her:  "See  how  I 

Put  the  fashion  for  other  men, 
Each  one  draws  my  pipe  and  sigh, 

Takes  my  skew  and  regimen. 
So  look  among  them  and  pretty  plain 

You  see  me  over  and  over  again, 
To  prove,  and  I  show  you  true, 

Just  by  this  one  thing  I  do, 
I  'm  the  only  man  for  you!" 

"Not  so,  Ben,"  she  said,  "you  are  slow, 

Not  at  the  head  of  men,  for  see 
They  take  your  way  and  say,  and  so 

Another  would  do  as  well  for  me ! 
Men  you  have  moulded  to  one  thought, 

This  thing  to  do,  that  thing  not, 
So  now  have  a  look  to  see 

What  the  full  harvest  shall  be: 
All  men  all  the  same  to  me ! 

"Different  are  all  men,  God  knows. 

Each  man  meant  to  blow  his  flower 

Of  handsome  heart,  lordly  pose 

For  high  standing  and  perfect  power ! 


Ben  Total  183 

You  bend  men  so  they  come  to  do, 

To  think  and  twist  and  squat  like  you, 

Nor  greatness  is  it,  will  not  draw 

Each  to  what  God  meant  him  for, 

Clean  beyond  your  tooth  and  claw, 

"Each  to  grow  wholly  unique  each, 

Little  like  as  yonder  peach 
Apes  my  Brandywine  pear 

Which  swings  such  tassels  in  air. 
Each  to  come  to  his  own  true  power 

As  a  ledge  will  or  little  flower, 
Never  once  to  turn  to  you, 

Take  the  toe-shape  of  your  shoe, 
Swallow  you  down  like  a  pigeon-stew! 

"Much  is  each  man  meant  to  show. 

Find  his  own  way  to  color-glow, 
You  not  to  shape  him  by  your  force 

To  take  your  pitch  as  matter  of  course! 
Teach  him  your  trick  of  striking,  reaching. 

And,  lo,  a  man  is  lost  in  the  teaching — 
But  you  just  to  let  him  sing 

His  own  note,  dip  his  wing 
His  own  angle,  make  him  king! 

"What  a  world  it  shall  be,  forsooth, 

Such  a  bundleful  of  truth. 
Should  all  men  think  as  one  man  thinks, 

We  all  huddled  in  one  hopper 
Like  a  game  of  tiddledy winks. 

Chopped  to  sameness  by  one  chopper! 
Have  a  way  to  think  and  do 

What  is  wholly  highly  you, 
Help  a  neighbor  to  it  too! 


184  Ben  Total 

"Help  a  brother  be  himself, 

All  his  best  he  is  by  birth, 
Nor  you  to  stand  him  on  your  shelf 

For  mirror  to  show  your  worth 
Of  cuticle  and  thought  and  hobble, 

How  he  took  your  twitch  and  bobble! 
Greatness  is  it  not  to  grind 

Men  to  take  your  cue  or  blind, 
Swallow  down  your  cut  of  mind. 

"So  my  obstacle  is  this: 

Now  are  all  our  village  beaus 
So  like  you  by  analysis 

I  should  be  puzzled,  God  knows. 
Right  as  I  look  from  brother  to  brother, 

To  pick  one  lover  from  another! 
Awkward,  eh,  yet  true-stated. 

Not  to  know  how  he  is  rated, 
Know  my  mate  when  I  am  mated!" 


COME,  COME  AWAY! 

Sweet  as  purple  in  a  lilac's  breast, 

There  she  was  by  the  pear-wall  wing 
Of  her  cottage,  there  at  her  best; 

There  her  quail  was  gardening, 
There  the  sigh  was  fine 

In  her  loblolly  pine. 
There  the  sun  was  ripe 

In  each  bon-field  stripe. 

Come,  come  away 

While  the  hills  are  red 
In  sunrise-play, 

While  the  soul  is  wed 
To  such  dressed-up  day! 

To  the  silver  top 
Of  mountains  in  air, 

Nor  thought  to  stop, 
Nor  thought  for  care, 

Or  let  us  away 
To  our  cedar  swamp 

For  a  day  to  play 
And  a  heart  to  romp 

As  the  crake  is  gay 
In  his  slick  and  pomp  1 
185 


k 


1 86  Come,  Come  Away  ! 

The  longspur  shall  fling 

His  song  in  air 
As  his  hftcd  wing 

And  his  swoop  arc  there 
To  give  us  his  soul 

In  a  caracole 
Of  flash  and  circle  and  pitch, 

Like  a  falling  star 
Out  of  bottomless  far, 

To  land  at  his  pickerel  ditch. 

Come,  come  away 

For  a  look  to-day. 
For  a  leap  of  play !  , 

To-morrow  will  come,  i 

Have  its  maple-hiim,  ;; 

Beetle-drum,  if 

Plash  of  the  lapwing-leap  ^ 

In  his  apple-field  heap  ^ 

And  we  shall  be  gone!  •, 

Only  days  are  here,  * 

Soul  is  on  and  on. 

Yet  the  days  are  dear; 
Cock  an  ear  to  hark 

To  the  floating  lark 
Ere  night  be  on. 

Ere  we  be  gone! 

April  again 

At  the  window-pane 
With  its  tune  of  rain ; 

My  cloud  to  dip 
Where  the  sun  will  rise, 

Get  the  scarlet  lip 


Come,  Come  Away!  187 

And  olive  eyes, 

Get  a  foot  to  skip 
And  a  wing  to  rise, 

All  of  April  rare. 
All  a  heart  to  share. 

And  we  shall  be  there! 


More  soul  is  outside 

Than  this  soul  I  hide 
In  thought  underneath. 

Just  as  more  breath  to  breathe 
Than  this  breath  I  share 

Makes  the  globe  of  air 
Which  is  not  part  of  me. 

Nor  self  nor  heart  of  me, 
This  soul  which  I  keep 

Though  the  winds  may  reap, 
Though  the  breath  may  sleep. 


Is  the  foot-path  rough 

As  the  fight  I  give, 
Yet  never  enough 

Is  this  fight  to  live, 
This  force  against  force 

To  make  for  what. 
In  the  natural  course. 

But  power  which  is  wrought 
Of  the  kick  and  blow, 

And  whether  or  no 
I  like  it  or  not. 

This  fight  to  be  fought, 
This  soul  to  be  wrought? 


1 88  Come,  Come  Away  ! 

Do  I  not  see 

The  blue  round  heaven 
Is  spark  and  leven 

To  you  and  me, 
Is  bonneted  blue 

To  yellowness  through, 
And  all  round  us  too, 

Round  us  everywhere. 
And  we  caught  for  fair 

In  the  tree-green  net 
For  all  eons  set 

In  blood-red  and  jet? 

Does  life  mean  care. 

Mean  one  struggle  through 
To  what  is  fair, 

What  is  great  and  true 
For  me  and  you 

To  be  climbing  to. 
Then  is  this  earth 

All  the  struggle  worth. 
Then  is  my  sky 

But  the  other  I, 
Then  is  my  hour 

But  the  seat  of  power 
To  hold  to  my  clinch 

To  the  crowded  inch. 

Both  you  and  I 

Have  a  way  to  go. 

And  whether  or  no 
I  joy  or  sigh. 

There  's  a  point  in  view 
Beyond  what  I  do, 


I 


I 


Come,  Come  Away!  189 

There  's  an  end  in  sight 

Beyond  human  light, 
So  I  see  my  way 

By  the  finer  ray, 
I  reach  to  all  light 

By  my  coil  of  height. 
And  the  winds  may  reap, 

And  the  clouds  may  weep, 
And  the  dead  may  sleep. 

We  shall  lie  together 

In  the  sod  out  there 
While  the  sparrow's  feather 

Dominates  the  air, 
And  to-morrow's  weather 

Is  his  sport  and  fare; 
Comes  it  then,  that  he. 

By  his  wing  and  glee. 
By  the  sun  he  blinks. 

By  the  storm  he  drinks 
Counts  more  than  we 

When  we  drop  our  feather. 
When  we  lie  together 

In  the  sod  and  weather? 


Come,  come  away, 

All  is  eternal  day, 
All  round  us  the  planets  play. 

The  coppy  trumps  his  true 
New  glee  to  you 

Ballooning  in  the  wind 
Where  his  cloud  is  thinned, 

Where  his  heart  is  pinned! 


190  Come,  Come  Away  ! 

While  the  grasses  play 
In  a  yellow  day, 

Everyway,  everywhere 
All  which  is  best  is  fair. 

Life  is  all  a  conquered  care, 
All  is  to  do  and  dare. 

And  we  shall  be  there! 


I 


MY  XENIUM 

Oh,  yes,  I  took  him  in, 

You  let  him  pass ! 
You  thought  him  no  more  than  a  temple  of  sin 

Or  a  lick  of  grass, 
So  you  left  him  to  the  gutter 

To  choke  and  sputter. 

The  poor  devil  was  rough. 

Had  wriggled  enough. 
Looted  pockets  or  what  not. 

Played  junket  and  sot, 
Played  the  fool 

By  playing  knave,  thought  wrong  could  rule. 

Hold  you  kind  to  him  all  the  same! 

God  made  him ! 
Once  he  had  a  youth  and  a  name 

And  they  stayed  him ! 
He  might  have  found  better  to  do 

Had  he  found  better  in  you. 

See  there  now  up  the  road 

His  critics  bunched  like  a  toad 
In  some  waterless  land, 

Only  thirst  at  their  command. 
Thirst  to  see  him  go  under, 

Thirst  to  shout  their  mouth  of  wonder! 
191 


192  My  Xenium 

I  knew  him  since  he  begun 

His  verminous  run, 
How  he  hungered  to  lampoon  and  loot 

Like  an  ugly  brute, 
Took  the  wayward  way  and  unfirm, 

Took  the  twist  of  a  worm. 

Never  he  knew  there  's  a  law  of  things 
Carries  kicks  and  stings, 

Carries  the  almighty  bite 
Day  and  night; 

Never  he  knew 

Beauty  is  not  to  be  smashed  askew 

And  nought  to  pay! 

Hellishness  may  have  its  day 
So  as  the  honey-fly  drives  his  sting 

And  dies  for  having  done  the  thing; 
Never  he  knew 

Triumphancy  is  kind  and  true. 

Was  he  not  taught 

Life  is  a  game  to  play 


For  all  there  is  to  be  got,  \ 

For  little  there  is  to  pay?  J 

Did  you  not  example  him  that  i"; 
By  how  you  captured  your  gold  and  fat? 

Did  he  not  learn  of  you 

How,  what  wrong  soever  he  should  do, 
What  venomous  ugly  thing  he  should  scheme 

In  his  drunken  dream. 
Let  him  to  any  deep  descend. 

There  's  a  Savior  there  at  his  elbow-end? 


My    Xenium  193 

I  am  telling  him  this : 

Whine  as  you  will, 
Or  trump  the  tune  of  a  robin's  bill, 

Fact  of  it  is 
Life  is  for  cuts  and  fits, 

Is  a  game  of  quits. 

So  you  shall  do 

The  thing  by  you  to  be  done 
Which  is  clean  and  true. 

Or  reap  the  subsequences,  my  son! 
Take  my  word  to  the  hammer's  ring, 

Performance  is  King ! 

Whimper  and  knuckle  to  God, 

Or  dance  your  pie-fly  dance  above  sod. 

There  's  all  power  for  you  to  choose. 
There  's  all  power  for  you  to  lose. 

Your  chance  to  knock  under  or  command, 
And  no  Savior  at  hand. 

What  I  think  luck  makes  only  one  law 

Of  Beauty  which  things  go  striving  for, 

Power  by  the  genius  of  virtue, 

Never  God  to  help  or  hurt  you. 

Just  the  royalty  of  high  behavior, 

Man  his  own  God  and  only  Savior. 

I  found  him  at  night ; 

Where  he  lay  his  lips  were  white 
As  the  foam-end  lip  of  a  wave 

And  he  lay  waiting  for  the  grave; 
Give  me  your  hand,  I  said, 

Let  go  of  the  dead ! 


194  My  Xenium 

Be  man  at  it  through 

To  the  hell-fire  blue, 
To  a  wink  of  you ! 

What  is  there  to  be  found 
In  the  universe  around 

Like  a  conqueror  of  the  ground? 

Be  the  God  in  you 

To  dare  to  do; 
Look  the  God  in  you  to  see, 

To  dare  to  be; 
Glory  be  yours  from  your  first 

To  conquer  the  worst! 

Have  a  go  to  it  straight 

To  be  kingsomely  great;  , 

To  know,  by  what  God- work  3^ou  do,  •                   j 

Comes  power  unto  you ;  i 

To  see,  by  the  light  I  fling,  s 

Man  is  born  to  be  king !  j 

\ 

I  smoothed  his  brow  out,  f 

I  gave  him  bread,  | 

I  swaddled  his  gout,  * 

I  bolstered  his  head,  }, 

I  brought  the  melon  to  his  lip,  i 

I  brought  the  flower-bird  to  ring  and  dip;  > 

t 
I  patted  him  on  the  back: 

"  Your  hand,  old  friend! 
Never  you  drop  for  lack 

Of  peak  to  fly  to  or  noble  end ! 
Your  hand  to  the  last  ditch  too ; 

Fast  am  I  in  this  fight  with  you!" 


My  Xenium  195 

So  I  took  him  to  heart, 

Gave  him  a  start; 
You  should  have  seen  him  unbend 

Like  a  friend  to  a  friend, 
Seen  what  great  soul  of  a  look, 

One  open  Paradise-book 

He  gave  me,  worth  more  than  you  claim 

For  gold  or  a  Parliament  name ! 
I  took  him  in. 

You  let  him  pass ; 
Man  is  more  than  a  temple  of  sin, 

Or  a  lick  of  grass ! 


I 


ON  THE  RHINE 


You  know  how  a  boy  thinks, 

Clean  keen-hearted  between  the  winks — 
This  boy  I  know  walked  along  the  Rhine, 

Saw  the  waves  pearl  and  pebbles  shine — 
Who  coiild  think  what  he  was  thinking  of 

As  he  went  along  at  a  blunderbuss  hitch 
With  small  knowledge,  yet  he  kept  on  thinking 

What  the  world  was,  what  most  of  it  meant 
In  the  wind-up,  what  life  was  about — 

Would  he  be  here  long  or  be  mustered  out 
Ere  his  time  should  come  to  know  and  doubt? 


II 


There  he  was — his  soul  in  him 

Knew  not  one  way  to  speckle 
More  than  his  moon-cheek  knew  a  freckk 

Spirit-most,  while  each  spirit- whim 
Took  never  a  thought  of  himself 

To  lick  his  chops,  mix  God  and  pelf- 
Never  was  taught  to  beg. 
Never  was  taught  to  kneel, 
Man  at  it  leg  and  leg, 
Man  at  it  head  and  heel 
196 


On  the  Rhine  197 

To  be  all  that  was  true 
Of  himself  as  he  knew 
He  was  meant  to  be  free 
As  a  finch  at  his  glee 
To  soar  highest  to  do 
All  his  best  to  be  true, 
Nor  a  fillip  from  you. 


m 


You  know  how  his  soul  was  white 

As  a  first  lap  of  sunrise-light 
As  he  thought,  Could  he  keep  it  so 

In  the  post-pink  of  blood-vessel  glow 
To  come  after — there  was  life 

Ahead  of  him  for  pit  and  strife — 
Large  ways  or  small  ways. 

The  fight  is  there  always — 
What  could  it  all  mean, 

One  fat,  the  other  lean. 
Strange  mixture  of  bubble  and  sigh. 

All  men  living  so  they  may  die! 
On  he  went  thinking  so, 

Only  this  one  wish  he  had. 
To  mantle  to  be  of  use 

Somehow,  anyhow  in  the  world, 
So  much  there  was  to  be  done. 

So  much  was  wrong  and  strong — 
There  was  his  mighty  wish. 

To  be  of  use  in  the  world  somehow. 
As  he  headed  on  towards  the  Coblenz  Mart, 

Longing  to  do  his  manfullest  part. 
And  the  wish  came  from  his  boyhood  heart. 


iq8  On  the  Rhine 


IV 


Bonn-College  was  where  he  was  taught 

To  be  so  much  which  he  was  not — 

Taught  how  to  think  your  way, 
Taught  to  knuckle  and  trim, 
Taught  to  wheedle  and  pray, 
Taught  to  capture  your  whim, 
Take  the  thing  you  should  say 
For  whole  truth,  verbatim, 
Nor  a  look  to  essay 
To  know  what  was  in  him, 
But  in  you,  as  if  you 
Had  the  key  and  the  clue 
To  his  heart,  and  you  knew 
What  was  true  of  him  too. 

There  in  your  college  he  went  fishing — 
Most  he  got  was  your  hishing-pishing 

To  keep  him  wishing  ever  and  wishing 
To  show  you  himself  for  what  he  was 

And  none  of  your  chop-eye  or  lop-off  laws. 


Poppelsdorf  Allee  is  in  Bonn — 
What  a  chorus  of  trinket-trees 

To  whistle  in  an  afternoon  breeze 
While  I  walk  on  and  on. 

Each  true  tree  like  another  friend, 
And  I  think  their  welcome  will  never  end! 

In  where  the  sun  was  squeezing  between 
Two  tree-trunks,  there  could  be  seen 

My  young  man,  nowise  daunted. 
Looking,  i'  faith,  as  if  he  were  haunted 


I 


On  the  Rhine  199 


By  a  new  spirit — there  she  came, 
Such  a  sweet  girl  to  speak  him  fair 

As  any  angel,  joined  him  there 
Between  the  trees — just  her  name, 

Fraulein,  was  all  he  knew, 
Save  her  e5''es,  which  were  perfect  blue, 

Noble-kindly  to  noblest  true: 


VI 


"Take  a  word  from  me, 

I  'm  young,  you  see. 

But  I  have  my  own  way  of  certainly  knowing! 

Have  a  look  to  me. 

They  are  young,  you  see, 

Who  are  never  too  old  to  be  growing ! 

"There  's  a  song  to  spell 

Of  the  philomel 

Now  he  tickles  his  tree  into  perfect  ringing; 

How  he  leaps  and  lutes 

And  the  piemag  flutes 

And  the  wind  in  the  west  is  singing! 

"What  a  way  he  has 

In  his  bristle-grass 

Of  getting  the  best  of  all  kinds  of  weathers 

By  plucking  the  cold. 

By  tucking  the  gold 

And  green  in  his  forest  of  feathers, 

"Nor  a  cage  for  him, 
Only  bough  and  limb 


200  On  the  Rhine 

For  a  leap  and  the  top-end  best  of  his  songing, 

All  a  heart  to  give, 

All  a  soul  to  live 

For  longing  and  singing  and  longing. 

"So  much  were  not  true 

Of  the  soul  of  you 

And  you  perch  in  your  college-cage  to  be  learning 

How  ^schylus  sings, 

Euripides  rings, 

Or  the  wind  in  the  west  is  yearning. 

"For  they  keep  you  there 

Under  club  and  care, 

Shut  heart  in  so  only  skull  may  be  bulging, 

Nor  a  heart  to  give. 

Nor  a  soul  to  live — 

There  's  a  thought  worth  your  while  indulging! 

"  More  noble  that  you 

Be  the  you  of  you. 

Be  the  God  of  you  for  greatening  and  growing 

Than  you  lick  their  feet 

To  be  mostly  meet — 

Who  would  turn  a  whole  soul  into  knowing.-* 

"Go  back  to  the  bird 

And  his  song  you  heard. 

His  tree-leap,  his  chorus  for  flight  of  a  morning 

To  know  he  is  free 

As  light  is  to  flee — 

Build  your  nest  in  your  yonder  dawning! 


On  the  Rhine  201 

VII 

"Take  to  loving  the  flowers 

For  their  pretty  ways; 

Learn  to  love  the  hours 

More  than  the  days! 

Only  a  maiden  I, 

Just  learning  to  sigh, 

Just  coming  of  age, 

All  title-page! 

Never  I  knew  why 

I  stop  to  sigh; 

Never  I  knew  enough 

To  question  love, 

Only  to  play  my  part, 

The  leaping  heart, 

Only  to  love — 

There  's  purpose  enough! 

New  grass  for  growth, 

New  buds  for  blowth, 

And  I  love  them  both — 

I  love  the  winds  to  bristle, 

To  stoop  to  tune  each  thistle 

To  chirp  and  whistle — 

A  summer  squall 

Of  fire  and  ball 

And  I  love  them  all — 

I  love  the  leaves  to  deaden, 

For  then  my  grapes  shall  redden — 

Over  all  and  above 

I  choose  to  love 

Rather  than  I  know 

Why  love  is  so, 

Rather  than  I  think 


202  On  the  Rhine 

Of  my  meadowink 
Beyond  that  he  is  fair 
As  a  summer  sky 
To  float  above  his  care 
To  live,  his  fear  to  die, 
So  he  may  pipe  his  song 
The  short  day  long, 
So  he  may  tune  his  soul 
To  the  rounded  whole" — 

VIII 

When — now  like  a  packet  of  charms 

She  was  caught  in  his  arms — 
Now  as  a  sun-morning  dips 

He  was  there  at  her  lips, 
Looking  for  room  in  her  eyes 

For  his  image  to  hide 
From  his  world  outside. 

From  a  world  which  is  wise — 
Down  deep  in  her  eyes 

His  image  to  hide, 
Away  from  tree-leaf  or  heather. 

Away  from  his  college  of  thought 
Where  love  is  not. 

Never  to  question  whether 
Or  no  or  what — 

Deep  in  her  eyes  inside 
His  image  to  hide, 

Farmost  from  book-leaf  or  heather, 
Where  souls  hide  hearts  together. 


NONCONFORMIST 


Be  that,  just  that, 

You  and  you. 
The  thing  in  life  worth  coming  at, 

To  be  forceful  true 
To  the  unique  type  of  God  in  you ! 

Have  a  look 
At  lily  or  gentianella-book : 

Each  flower 
Captures  its  own  plump  cheek  and  power 

By  itself,  never  to  copy 
Clove  or  poppy — 
Each  yellow  sun-glass  hour 
Remains  the  same 
In  streak  and  flame. 
While  I  marvel  at  the  frame 

And  purple  of  the  pheasant-flower; 
You  to  your  own  way 

Of  difference  from  the  other, 
Your  independent  master-brother, 

To  give  play 
Each  to  his  own  sun-angle  ray. 

Power  is  there,  truly  that. 

But  Power  for  you  to  be  striking  at, 
203 


204  Nonconformist 

Worlds  to  be  overcome 
Ere  they  strike  you  dumb. 

What  value  's  this 
That  I  stoop  and  drule 

To  snuggle  to  some  conqueror-school 
And  I  my  own  man-majesty  miss? 

Difference  is  everywhere 
In  plum,  grass-path,  panting  air. 

In  man. 
In  ballading  shrike, 

And  no  two  tempered  to  ring  alike. 
Look  that  you  think  or  do 

What  is  foremost  new,  wholly  true 
To  show  the  pluck  and  ear-mark  of  you! 

One  stands  stronger  than  another, 
His  whining  brother — 

There  's  the  weaker  one's  new  lesson 
To  pluck  up  gizzard  and  to  press  on — 

One  puts  up  his  pallor-blue; 
Look  that  you 
Take  carroty-red 
Or  crock  instead 
So  you  shall  be  native  you — 

One  thinks  his  endless  God 
Flattered  by  whining  psalm  and  nod: 

Look  that  you 
Have  more  of  native  true 

God-royal  for  the  man  in  you! 
What  of  the  upshot,  or  what  the  odds 
Since  Ye  are  Gods? 

Your  lake  goes  lilied,  your  garden  rosed, 
Yet  no  atom  is  composed; 

Life,  circumstance,  form 
Pitted  against  the  storm; 


1 
I 


Nonconformist  205 

Endless  agitation 
From  child  to  nation; 

Little  comes  of  ease, 
And  very  truly  there  is  no  peace. 
Comes  one  certain  reasoning: 
Each  very  thing  I  am  after, 

Ground-fat,  palace-rafter, 
Gulletful  of  chuck  and  laughter 

Make  not  the  thing 
The  triumphant  forces  bring 

To  put  me  to  my  struggling. 
But  other  finer  far-off  game. 
Not  once  the  same. 
My  shots  at  tempestuous  frown 

Till  the  falcon  world  shall  be  brought  down. 
Is  there  not  proof 
The  finest  great  best  lies  aloof. 
Elegance  for  me  to  match. 

Not  to  catch. 
Power  for  me  to  acquire. 

Nor  only  admire. 
Dominion  for  me  to  soar, 

Not  to  implore. 
Forces  for  me  to  snuff  out, 
Never  fear  nor  pout — 
One  fine  divine  opposition-plan 
To  force  me  to  be  man? — 
I  for  high  choice  championship. 

Never  the  whimpering  coward-lip ! 


II 


See  again  how  the  best  in  you 

Fights  against  all  you  hope  or  knew: 


2o6  Nonconformist 

There  's  the  thrush, 

Just  his  tiny  throat 

For  one  clear  new  note, 
Then  evening  comes  and  his  eyeless  hush! 

You  would  have  him  sing 
To  no  end  of  his  pretty  gurgle-ring. 

There  's  my  sonnet-bird 

At  his  fine  last  word: 

His  best  he  would  give, 

Half  anthem,  half  sigh 

Because  he  must  die 

That  the  hawk  may  live. 

There  man  fades  to  die  away. 

There  his  trap-rock  means  to  stay! 

There  your  strongest  survives 

Out  of  noble  lives — 

How  often  the  best  must  go, 

While  who  is  there  lives  and  loves  it  so?- 

To  prove  me  I  come  to  more 

Than  what  is  gone  before. 

Than  what  I  see  around 
In  sky  or  ground 

Which  I  have  outgrown, 

Basket- treasure,  chipmunk- throne 

Of  grub-royal  earth,  to  aspire 

To  other  living,  vast-ways  higher, 

Else  what  is  this  in  man 

Outruns  his  utmost  plan, 

Outleaps  life  or  all  he  may  do 

Of  fine  longing,  purpose  true, 

Till  so  he  droops  and  dies 

And  this  world  never  satisfies? 

By  opposition  so  will  man 

Discover  his  soulful  span 


Nonconformist  207 

Of  king-independent-self, 

Nor  meant  for  3'-ou  or  your  closet-shelf, 

But  all  for  his  own  supremest  true 

Against  supremest  odds, 

Not  to  be  dominated  by  you 

Or  circumstance  or  Gods! 

So  he  shall  not  conform 

To  temple-trick  or  chancel-storm 

Or  you, 
Himself  just  for  foremost  true 

As  God  put  him, 
You  to  not  graft  him  nor  uproot  him. 


Ill 


Came  one  moon-like  night, 
Every  little  star  stood  bright 

As  eyes 
Full  of  young  wonderful  surprise 
As  there  stood  my  love  and  I 
In  our  hazel-bough  patch, 
Yellow  foxglove  was  there  to  catch, 
One  bobwhite-whistle  next  by 
In  the  soft  song  of  the  trees. 

While  we 
Lingered  to  hearken,  to  see 
How  truly  man  is  part  of  these 
His  whistling  butterfly-birds  and  trees 
When — Now  it  was  time  to  tell 
How  love  went,  to  break  the  spell 
Of  our  evening  wing  and  bell — 

Just  one  word. 
And,  oh,  how  soul  is  heard 
And  captured  and  understood 


2o8  Nonconformist 

Like  my  bell-bird  is  in  his  hazel-wood — 

Just  one  word  was  all 
Lip  could  master  now  I  let  fall 
My  heart  to  her,  lip  and  love  and  all 
My  soul  in  her  open  palms, 
We  there  fast  in  each  other's  arms 
For  love  only,  never  the  thought 

How  love  is  wrought. 
Or  why 
Soul  speaks  only  by  a  sigh, 
When — "Now  we  must  be  one, 
"We  two,"  she  said,  in  her  pretty  way 
To  win  me  by  lip  and  dimple-play — 
"All  things  under  the  sun 
Seek  each  other  to  be  lastly  one 
So  the  will  of  the  kingdom  of  love  be  done — 
I  to  take  your  way  or  you  mine, 
One  unity  which  is  divine. 
Never  again  as  before. 
Each  for  that  self-masterful  poise 
Only  tree-peak  or  hill-peak  enjoys. 
But  one  soul  between  us  more  and  more, 
Not  to  question  why  once  or  whether 
Two  souls  like  ours  should  come  together." 
"Ah,"  I  said," that  is  Nature's  gait. 
To  join,  submit,  imitate, 
You  small,  Nature  great 
That  has  brought  you  to  her  terms, 
Pig-uncle  play- way  of  the  worms! 

Two  to  be  one 
For  soul  and  purpose  and  creed, 
Then  the  duty  of  life  is  done, 
Man  is  to  love,  to  eat  and  breed, 
What  else  goes  there  under  the  sun 


Nonconformist  209 

More  than  this  that  soul  shall  need? 
Hark,  there  's  my  maple-top  lark 
Full  of  his  lifted  song, 
His  mottled  orange  mark, 
Dipping,  for  love  of  grace, 

His  short  life  long, 
Careless,  so  he  pipe  his  song. 
How  death  grins  him  in  the  face! 
He  would  have  his  ballad  to  last, 
The  while  he  thinks  it  this  life  is  past 
Right  as  he  whistles  his  best  and  last. 
To  prove  there  is  other  better 
Than  life  which  frees  him  of  his  fetter. 
Since  the  world  holds  nothing  new 
But  soul  in  its  each  cut  and  hue. 
Foremost  is  to  be  true 

Incomparably  you; 
Each  the  self -independent  each, 
Each  from  the  other  out  of  reach, 
We  two  to  be  two,  not  once  one, 
That  way  to  count  for  more 
On  differentiated  shore 

Of  sun  and  sun. 
What  's  life,  from  heel  to  nowl. 
Save  that  man,  tree-like,  shall  grow 
His  ego-kingful  soul 
To  shape  and  blossom  so 
His  way,  his  new  caprichio. 
And  not  a  pinch  of  your  thumb  and  toe? 

I  'm  to  be  I, 

And  not  a  sigh 
For  what  I  seem  to  have  missed. 
Since  Power  is  there  for  me  to  resist, 
I  to  be  man  at  it  'though  I  die. 


2IO  Nonconformist 

Therefore  will  I  not  conform 

To  priest  or  norm, 
Now  all  around  I  see 
What  claims  no  inch  of  destiny 

With  the  best  in  me. 
What  way  this  world  has 
Of  letting  virtue  pass ; 
How  it  is  oft  recorded 
The  best  is  small  rewarded ; 
How,  by  one  brute-buoyant  freak, 
Strong  ones  fatten  on  the  weak; 
How  my  morning  tulip-bird 
Dies  before  his  heart  is  heard; 
How  death  comes — and  worst, 
Truth  and  love  pallored  and  hearsed, 
And  there  's  your  pretty  country  curst! 
No,  I  will  not  conform — I  can  see 
My  way  to  nobler  destiny 
By  one  all-independent  me, 
We  two  to  count  for  more  than  we  one 

When  all  is  done. 


i 


PEBBLES 

He  was  rich,  this  man  was — they  said  it, 
He  had  a  Bankdom  to  his  credit, 

So  was  there  primal  cause 
For  his  thinking  his  way  he  thought, 
That  all  men  could  be  bought — 
Rich  and  wondrous  wise 
In  this,  which  should  suffice: 
Men  and  women  have  their  price. 

So  he  would  pause  to  look 

Women  over  as  I  pick  my  book 
From  book-shops,  sure  as  light 

He  could  wed  the  best  of  them  on  sight, 
For  was  he  not  made  of  gold. 
While  what  under  Heaven 

To  men  is  given 
With  such  sure  pull  and  hold? 

It  was  one  middle- August  day. 

Each  tree  stood  full  as  it  could  carry. 
Cricket  and  finch  talked  back  their  way 

Half  as  if  they  meant  to  marry, 
Now  my  gold  friend  watched  in  the  grass 

A  new  maid,  half-bonneted  green. 
Cheek  with  an  August  apple  gleen, 

An  eye  like  a  robin  has 


1 


2  12  Pebbles 


For  fire  in  it,  for  mellow, 

While  there  he  watched  her  for  an  hour 
Sport  like  a  linnet  in  a  flower,  X 

He  for  one  lucky  fellow  I 

To  feel  his  heart  jump,  his  cheek 

Bubble  fire  too,  try  to  speak 

And  not  a  thought  would  go, 
So  was  he  captured  and  silenced  so. 


How  well  she  knew  he  was  watching  her. 

Yet  not  her  one  shy  look  his  way 
As  there  he  thought,  while  he  could  not  stir, 

How  her  step  was  like  the  roundelay 
Of  a  wren — soon  he  must  speak, 

There  was  more  than  he  could  say, 
Longer  silence  would  be  weak 

And  his  soul  sculptured  in  each  cheek. 

So — he  plucked  one  moon-flower  out  of  the  grass, 

Handed  it  to  her,  then  only  said: 
"Beauty  is  there  in  yellow  and  red, 

Yet  who  could  let  the  violet  pass.-* 
Over  us  hovers  blue  wild  air, 

Underneath  is  dancing  grass. 
Lake  that  copies  like  a  glass 

All  the  high  sweet  Heaven  has, 

"Yet  in  among  them  you  are  there 

For  perfect  above  all,  for  fair 
As  copies  no  Beauty  anywhere! 

Now  as  the  chaffinch  rings. 
Wind  whistles,  cricket  sings, 

Let  their  wild  chorus  be  enough 
To  call  you  fr'^m  your  sky  above — 

Be  the  soul  of  me,  be  my  love!" 


Pebbles  213 

She  knew  him  and  loved  him  too, 

So  knew  how  he  thought  his  gold  could  buy 
Soul  out  of  a  summer  sky 
If  he  loved  or  not,  was  false  or  true. 

Yet  kept  her  secret  as  on  through  heather 
And  larch  they  took  the  one  way — 

Oh,  what  a  dream  is  that  young  day 
When  two  souls  breathe  together! 

Soon  were  they  sitting  by  the  lake. 

She  to  shovel  the  cedar  sand 
For  lucky-stones  with  one  small  hand. 

He  to  wonder  what,  for  her  sake, 
He  would  not  give  up,  undertake. 

While  all  the  sweet  wild  while  there  stirred 
Not  a  nut-leaf  you  could  have  heard — 

Two  hearts  were  talking  without  a  word. 

Of  a  sudden  she  scooped  from  the  sand 

One  fiat  fine  pebble  round  as  space. 
One  side  white,  the  other  a  face 

Of  purple,  took  it  in  her  hand, 
Then  this  way  spoke  to  him  plain  and  bold : 

"I  know  how  you  think  of  gold, 
Your  way  of  thinking  it  means  so  much 

That  women  crumble  at  its  touch, 
Lose  their  senses,  loose  their  hold. 

"So  this  to  you — I  would  have  you  know 

My  gold-heap  is  large  as  yours, 
I  count  my  thousands  by  the  scores, 

So  you  may  not  buy  nor  tempt  me  so. 
More — I  would  show  you  what  small  stuff 


214  Pebbles 

I  count  my  gold  in  a  game  of  love: 
Here  is  a  thing  I  will  do, 

I  '11  match  all  I  have  in  the  world  with  you 

"Against  all  you  have — see,  I  '11  toss 

This  pebble  for  gain  or  loss! 
Who  wins  takes  the  other's  all 

And  with  it  the  right  to  say 
If  we  two  shall  be  one  one  day." 

By  such  means  he  saw  his  chance 
To  get  her  by  lucky  circumstance, 

Since,  if  he  should  win,  he  could  say 

She  must  be  his  if  she  would  or  no. 

So  he  bade  her  rattle  the  dice  and  throw ! 
One  new  white  place  was  found  in  the  sand. 

The  pebble  she  sent  into  upper  air 
Like  a  bird  from  a  nest  in  the  flower-hand 

— The  flip  was  keen  as  the  throw  was  fair — 
Never  was  die  so  rashly  tost. 

For  there  lay  this  truth  in  the  sand — he  lost ! 

There  he  was  now  at  her  command, 

Pinioned  between  trap  and  trick, 
Face  white  as  the  wrinkled  sand. 

The  soul  in  him  deathful  sick 
At  thought  of  having  lost  his  hold 

On  her,  on  his  heap  of  gold, 
Love  and  fear,  trace  upon  trace, 

Pictured  so  in  his  young  fine  face. 

"Farewell,"  she  said,  now  she  took  his  hand — 

It  was  one  lord-orange  day 
Of  sun-wonder,  chipmunk-play. 

Pretty  cricket-virelay — 


Pebbles  215 

There  slept  her  pebble  in  the  sand, 

There  too  lay  his  whole  heart — 
Oh,  what  is  to  hope  or  understand 

When  souls  such  as  these  must  part? 

Stood  they  there  on  the  pale  beach, 

Hand  in  hand,  yet  each  to  each 
Like  a  bright  sky  all  out  of  reach. 

When  sudden,  just  as  he  thought 
To  speak,  scarce  knowing  what, 

Save  one  poor  whisper  to  tell 
The  breathless  fearful  farewell. 

He  half  felt  how  his  hand  was  caught 

By  one  little  firmer  hold,  so 

As  if  it  was  not  meant  he  should  go, 
Then — she  drew  him  to  her  her  gentle  way, 

While  there  they  were  lost  in  each  other's  arms, 
In  freshets  of  such  summer  day 

Of  tree-angles,  cup-lily  charms — 

"I  only  wanted  to  show 
Only  love  could  buy  me — now  you  know!" 


1 


1 

f 


DOCTOR  AND  PATIENT 

Doctor : 
My  doctor's  office-boy's  mistake 
To  put  pills  before  powder, 
As  if  one  were  cake, 
'Tother  chowder! 
There  's  the  boy  of  it — i'  faith 
A  boy  has  wit  in  his  wool 

To  see  a  stomachful — 
Give  him  that,  you  may  give  him  death! 
Your  tongue! — 
Pinky  fair. 
Good  for  chat-song  or  blare 
If  you  have  the  lung! 
Red  mullet  and  mulse 
Put  kick  to  the  pulse, 
So  why  this  pallor-look 
Of  a  perishing  lip, 
White  and  thin  as  leaves  of  a  book, 
Scarce  open  for  scarce  a  sip 
Of  the  plenum  air. 
Yet  so  wondrous  fair 
As  it  fades 
Beyond  thorn-apple,  flucllen-blades, 
I  wonder  what  it  is  that  's  there! 
216 


Doctor  and  Patient  217 

Patient: 

Wherefore,  then,  powders,  pills? 

Did  you  think  the  best  of  strife 

Or  a  foremost  aim  of  life 

Is  to  conquer  human  death  and  ills? 

Have  a  look  to  it  to  see ! 

Now  you  say  Beauty  .shows 

For  more  and  more  in  me 

As  pulse  quickens,  life  slows! 

There  I  was  once  for  such 

A  round  rose-girl  as  chime 

Put  dancing  to  you  many  a  time, 

I  the  spring-leaf  in  purple  thyme, 

Yet  you  gave  me  never  thought  nor  touch. 

Then  was  it  I  so  loved  you — 

It  may  have  been  because  I  knew 

There  was  no  hope  of  having  you — 

It  might  have  been  for  what  I  saw, 

You,  of  all  men,  worth  living  for — 

Or  may  be  I  only  longed 

For  only  what  belonged 

To  me  out  of  the  vast  whole. 
You  just,  part  of  my  very  soul. 

Those  were  holly-sun  days: 

How  I  kept  to  my  heart  and  ways 

Among  moth-mulleins  and  peach. 

Stripes  of  stars,  plum-ended  vine, 

All  Beauty  and  all  mine. 

And  you  there  so  all  out  of  reach ! 

How  a  woman  may  not  speak 

Lest  this  weak  world  think  it  weak 

To  climb  higher  than  trap-rock  art, 

Perfect  silence  of  the  heart! 
So  you  never  knew! 


2i8  Doctor  and  Patient 

It  might  have  been  different  with  me 
Had  I  been  perfect  open-free 
To  unsoul  my  soul  to  you. 
But  you  never  saw! 
I  obeyed  the  order-law, 
As  one  morning — I  know  the  day 
If  I  see  it  in  the  mouth  of  May — 
We  both  took  one  cross-cut  path 
By  Bell-Heath  if  we  might  catch 
The  rondel  of  a  robin,  match 
His  rust-red  throat,  olive  patch 
With  sun-laps  across  rath — 
You,  so,  stepped  ahead  a  piece, 
Nor  a  thought  of  me,  only  of  these 
Or  those  oak-angles  that  elbowed  you 
To  look  their  way — I  knew 
My  heart  had  a  thing  to  do, 
So  broke  ranks,  put  out  both  palms 
Far  as  I  could  reach  these  arms 
To  offer  my  whole  soul  to  you 
And  you  turned — I  took  alarms 
At  thought  of  being  seen  by  you 
Trying  to  be  frank  and  true. 
So  righted  myself,  carried  arms! 
That  way  I  lost  you — you  knew 
Never  how  I  could  be  lovemost-true, 
Your  heart-part  and  the  whole  of  you. 

Doctor  : 
There  now  let  that  be  past! 
Let  us  to  the  task  of  recompletion ! 
My  powders  first,  deglutition, 
One  fight  for  life,  that  you  may  last 
To  snare  crimson  in  the  lip  again, 


Doctor  and  Patient  219 

Fling  purple  eye-light  to  dart 

Such  flash  of  heart 
As  was  your  wont  once,  then 
One  leap  of  life  for  joy  again 
By  linn,  by  open  stretch. 
Play  the  bee-bird  in  a  shower 
Of  sun  to  trap  the  gillyflower, 

Nest  in  your  bunch  of  vetch, 
I  there  to  be  caught,  sun-like  too. 
At  the  eye  and  throat  and  lip  of  you. 
Life  let  us  court,  not  death ! 
Once  more  the  sun-honey  breath 
Of  bright  morning,  now  I  see 
Love  in  you,  love  in  me. 
That  all  may  come  around 
Which  hovers  for  us  above  ground 
To  gladden  and  superabound! 
Never  before  once  I  saw 
Beauty  such  as  now  in  you 
As  you  lie  there  I  'm  pleading  for, 
Sotd  perhaps,  as  if  it  could  see 
Through  the  thin  cheek  a  way  of  escape 
From  the  watchfulness  of  me 
And  I  see  the  look  of  it  and  shape. 
There,  so,  yoiu-  hand — so! — 
You  shall  not  go,  you  shall  not  go! 

Patient: 
Your  powders  then — each  one  I  '11  take — 

Would  they  might  bid  me  wake. 
Knowing,  and  so  well  I  know 
I  would  not  leave  you  so ! 
Yet  strange  to  stupendous  strange 
Men  may  not  see  beyond  the  range 


220  Doctor  and  Patient 

Of  cheek-sight,  body-change, 

To  have  one  look  to  what 

Remains  always  to  be  wrought 

Out  of  what  is,  and  always  better 

Than  the  old  clutch  or  foot-fetter 

May  compass.     Be  it 

What  may  be,  yet  you  see  it 

Now  for  something  fairer  in  me 

Than  before  ever — my  lip  is  white, 

Cheek  slowly  dropping  out  of  sight. 

Yet  mark  how,  just  as  I  go, 

I  have  more  hold  of  you — you  see 

One  new  look  of  finer  glow. 

Sky-heart  in  the  face  of  me, 

Which  is  soul,  else  how  could  there  be 

More  of  me  to  love  each  day 

As  the  little  body  slips  away? 

Once  I  was  round  and  red 

As  any  girl,  yet  not  for  you 

Was  I  worth  any  looking  to 

More  than  the  others,  so  you  said. 

These  arms  held  out  to  you  my  heart. 

Soul  and  body.     In  each  eye 

Stood  love-light,  while  just  apart 

That  May  morning  from  where  you  brewed, 

Had  you  harked,  you  had  heard  my  sigh, 

My  soul-whisper,  if  you  would. 

I  could  not  have  you  then. 

Much  as  5^ou  saw,  past  doubt. 

How  I  had  singled  you  out, 

My  choice-chosen  one  among  men 

Now  is  so  little  left  to  me 

Of  body,  and  you  begin  to  see 

Such  fine  other  side  of  mc. 


Doctor  and  Patient  221 

You  would  stay  me,  call  me  back 
To  linn-beach,  purple  morning  track 
Among  sea-lemons,  whimbrels. 
To  dance,  you  to  tap  the  timbrels 
For  song  and  lip  and  glass. 
Nor  see  my  soul  there  as  I  pass! 

Doctor: 

Life  is  all — after  this 

What 's  to  gain  or  miss? 

They  have  it  to  make  most 

Of  sun-patch,  meadow-breath, 

Who  play  shy  of  pretty  ghost, 

Play  for  life,  not  death. 

What,  i'  faith,  do  you  spy 

For  power  in  you  now  you  lie 

Powerless  there  as  chaff 

In  a  hurricane,  your  staff 

Of  life  only  weak  death. 

You  scarce  able  to  draw  a  breath? 

Your  love  of  me,  my  love  of  you. 

What  boots  it,  where  's  the  prize 

When  lip  withers,  bosom  dies? 

Here  's  proof,  my  tiny  powder: 

Take  it,  just  once  again, 

To  wear  starlight,  silver  rain 

On  the  linn-path — louder 

Life  calls  than  death  to  you — 

I  have  my  right  to  you,  too. 

Just  for  one  vast  love  of  you. 

Proof  that  life  is  all? 

This  powder!     How  pittance-small. 

Nothing  most,  yet  will  it  keep 

The  eyelid  from  everlasting  sleep. 


22  2  Doctor  and  Patient 

Lift  you  to  reel  and  dance  again 
In  the  sun-sistered  grain. 
What  you  call  soul  shall  stay  or  go 
All  as  my  powder  wills  it — so 
There  's  a  way  for  you  to  know 
This  powder,  my  powder  is  king, 
Soul  nothing,  life  the  only  thing. 

Patient  : 
Ah,  but  I  lose  you  so 
If  I  could  turn  track, 
Turn  to  wander  back 
To  life  of  your  sunful  glow, 
As  once  I  was  pink-ribboned  and  fair 
As  flesh  is,  snug  in  my  chain 
Of  pretty  links  of  purple  vein 
To  hold  me,  to  keep  me  there 
For  you  to  take,  yet  you  would  not, 
Nor  give  me  more  than  one  little  look 
You  give  the  fly-leaf  of  a  book 
Not  worth  the  thumbing  of  a  thought. 
I  was  vermilion  in  the  lip, 
Eye-life,  tall  happy  heart 
For  you  just,  yet  not  one  sip 
You  cared  for  till  now  we  must  part 
And  you  see  more  clearly  through 
The  white  vein  than  the  red  or  blue 
How  my  soul  deepens  and  longs  for  you. 
I  go  back? — oh,  never 
Is  a  step  put  back 
On  the  forefingered  track 
Which  points  off,  points  on  forever! 
You  shall  follow  me  through  strips  of  cloud 
To  where  my  star  tries  to  hide 


I 


Doctor  and  Patient  223 

On  the  other  side, 

Shall  pick  me  out  of  their  crowd 

Of  worlds — not  for  you 

Is  any  loss  of  what 

Is  highest  best,  spirit- wrought 

For  Beauty  which  is  true 

As  truth  is  in  the  soul  in  you, 

And  lasting  too. 
I  may  not  turn  back  to  you ; 
Soiil  must  go  its  way 
Straight  on,  more  soul  for  coming  to, 
New  other  kind  of  power  in  view 
Than  makes  for  breath,  palate-play 
To  spin  life  out.     As  if  no  other 
Could  rival  your  spoonbill  wisdom-brother! 
Body  will  wither  while  soul  will  not; 
Sew  that  patch  on  your  pauper  thought ! 
Death  comes  to  put  us  to  the  touch, 
To  find  little  of  us  or  much — 
What  opportunity  like  it  such. 
What  hour  so  generous-ripe 
For  masterfulness  of  the  hero-stripe? 
Light  pick-work,  tomfoolish  play 
Men  make  of  it  in  the  clay. 
Life  's  too  bonny  short  to  make  point 
Of  jowl-rule,  brisket-joint, 
Seeing,  as  I  see  now,  how  the  whole 
Is  servant  to  one  mute  magic  soul. 
Stick  to  flesh-pots,  play  cyprus-sipper. 
Drink  like  a  tub-worm  at  a  dipper, 
Yet  shall  you  follow  me 
For  more  which  is  yet  to  be 
Than  you  may  gulp  at  or  pocket. 
Play  your  part  of  grazing  brocket. 


224  Doctor  and  Patient 

Till  lastly  you  come  to  know 

Soul  would  not  have  it  so. 

Spirit  speaks  out  in  the  long  run, 

More  's  in  keeping  than  moon  and  sun — 

See  how  the  troops  of  stars  are  fair, 

Yet  what  small  part  of  heaven  they  share! 

Doctor: 

Oh,  but  not  yet !     Not  half  so  soon ! 

See,  there  waits  for  us  the  blond  moon. 

Sunburnt,  all  always  June ! 

Just  beyond  over  your  pasture-wall 

Each  bee-bike  houses  new  cells, 

Your  corn-crake  hides  in  trumpet-bells. 
Gives  you  his  newest  call 
To  go  and  try  and  find  him, 
Yet  you  will  not  mind  him! 

See  how  the  vast  world  is  fair. 

Puts  all  arms  out  to  you. 

Hands  of  flax,  fire  of  dew 

To  spread  one  pink-shot  heaven  for  you 
And  you  do  not  care! 

Love  comes  and  now  you  must  go. 
If  the  law  be  so. 
Into  outer  air. 

Where  none  may  guess  at  it  to  know 
If  any  more  be  there 
Than  spits  of  grasses  to  wave 
Over  one  little  gravel-grave. 

Love  comes,  yet  now  you  must  go, 

While  wait  for  us  in  each  field 

Dogrose  breath,  freshets  of  breeze 

In  thorn-broom,  knee-buckle  trees 

And  their  bird-bugling  yield! 


i 


Doctor  and  Patient  225 

Life,  joy,  love — all  these  to  forfeit, 

Nurse  your  sick  inch  of  hope 
Of  some  sky-ended  profit 

At  which  you  only  squint  and  grope 

To  find  the  nothing  there  is  of  it! 

Off  at  a  gallop  is  Hfe, 

Spurs  to  the  straddle  and  strife. 

Hold  to  the  dash  which  is  Might, 

There  's  the  keen  genius  of  Right ! 

Life  is  put  up  for  a  fight 

For  more  life,  just  for  more  power 

To  suck  breath  from  a  flower. 

Stagger  the  kick  and  the  blight. 

Hail  to  the  talent  to  live. 

Power  to  take  and  to  give ! 

What  else  is  certain  as  this. 

Life  is  to  win  or  to  miss? 

Tumble-rough  pig  iron  bully 

Makes  the  best  of  it  fully. 

More  there  may  be  or  may  not. 

There  's  mere  matter  of  thought. 

Life  holds  the  steeple  and  ring. 

There  's  the  sweet  truth  of  the  thing; 

So  at  it,  let  us  be  off 

At  a  gallop,  luck  in  the  rough, 

To  pick  sun,  gather  yarrow, 

Man  is  small  as  a  sparrow — 

Try  your  luck,  better  trollop 

Than  you  die  like  a  scallop ! 

Patient  : 
Best  you  know  your  best  way 
Is  to  gain  a  point  of  power  each  day 
To  follow  me  my  way 

IS 


I 


226  Doctor  and  Patient 

Of  holding  to  what  is  best, 
Of  letting  go  the  rest, 
Jolly  cockles,  fly-bubbles. 
Balancing  sweets  and  troubles, 
To  come  to  dominion  the  whole, 

Come  to  power,  which  is  soul. 
Eye-laugh,  hair  honeysuckle. 
Girl-gurgling  heart,  soul-chuckle, 
Were  mine  once,  yet  you  would  not  take 
A  thought  of  me.     Now  that  I  make 
For  spirit-shape,  which  is  new, 
Other  wholly  than  what  you  knew 
In  me  when  I  was  life-loaded  too. 
You  would  have  me  back  again 
To  your  purposes,  vanity  life 
Of  lover,  belle-petticoated  wife 
To  bear  your  young,  as  if  that 
Were  most  this  soul  is  driving  at 
Like  a  hog-hawk,  to  practise  rat. 
Count  noses  and  gold  and  fat! 
What  I  am  now,  my  word  to  you. 
Is  more  than  ever  before  I  knew 
To  dream  of — here  about  me  close 
Is  not  lavender  nor  rose. 
Not  white  light,  not  conch-blue 
Nor  what  pretty s  your  world  to  you. 
Nor  makes  for  power  in  it,  nor  longs 
For  cymbals,  belladonna-lily  songs 
On  happy  highways,  never  stretch 
Of  poppy,  Silvester- vetch, 
Lattice-leaf,  which  once  I  had. 
Sun-patch  to  make  me  glad — 
Yet  all  about  me  throngs 
Heart-ring  of  a  thousand  songs, 


Doctor  and  Patient  227 

Such  Beauty,  such  as  you 

Could  not  put  your  thinking  to 

To  call  it  song  or  strong  or  true, 

Corn-color,  citron,  Saxon-blue, 

Nothing  I  could  tell  to  you 

Save  Beauty  on  the  spirit-side 

Of  loveliness,  such  as  is  fair 

As  no  star  yellows  in  blue  air — 

Of  Beauty  such  as  if  what  I  saw 

Were  more  than  all  heart  could  hunger  for — 

Of  Beauty  such  as  if  Right 

Beamed  by  a  new  other  kind  of  light 

Men  saw  never  nor  could  capture 

For  the  soul  in  it  of  heart-rending  rapture — 

Of  Beauty  I  see,  now  body  dies 

And  I  seem  to  be  all  soul,  all  eyes 

To  compass  unlanguaged  deeps 

Where  soul  wakes,  body  sleeps — 

Of  Beauty  which  bells  bells  in  me 

Like  nothing  between  heaven  and  ground, 

As  if  the  vastitude  around 

Were  Beauty,  all  a  part  of  me. 

My  own,  my  all  I  seem  to  be — 

And  you — have  not  a  fear,  my  love  of  thee 

Is  fettered  as  the  stars  are  fixed, 

And,  like  their  breath  of  gold,  is  mixed 

For  Beauty  in  my  eternity! 


BOY  SONG 

Boy  and  girl  together, 

I  and  you, 
To  snicker  at  this  weather, 

Drench  or  dew — 
A  world  would  never  miss  us 
Without  a  chance  to  hiss  us. 

Let  us  try  together, 

You  and  I, 
Robins  of  the  hether, 

Try  to  fly— 
A  world  would  never  love  us 
If  it  could  fly  above  us. 

Overtop  the  devil, 

I  and  you, 
Error  and  the  evil 

That  men  do — 
A  world  would  never  follow 
A  hero  in  a  hollow. 

Take  life  on  the  wing, 

Fear  it  not! 
What  a  soul-rotting  thing 

To  be  bought, 
To  let  the  Heaven  choose  us. 
To  let  the  devil  loose  us! 
228 


I 


Boy  Song  229 

Not  for  naught,  not  for  long, 

You  and  I ; 
"  Higher  up,"  there  's  your  song 

Of  the  sky ; 
Spirit  fairer  than  ever 
To  tempt  men  forever. 

Not  for  pay,  not  for  gain 

Is  the  Hfe, 
Nor  for  loss  nor  the  pain 

Of  the  strife; 
Hard  hits  make  the  whole  of  it 
To  chisel  the  soul  of  it. 

Meant  for  love  are  the  days. 

Not  for  fear; 
To  the  lute  of  their  lays 

Bend  an  ear ; 
Beat  your  right  time  to  a  ring 
All  for  love  of  the  thing. 

Think  it  out,  think  it  clear, 

Think  it  you! 
Come  to  your  truth  by  no  fear. 

Old  or  new ; 
Hold  to  a  thought  that  is  yours 
All  in  spite  of  the  Powers ! 

Pick  for  truth  together. 

You  and  I, 
Robins  out  of  hether 

Unto  sky; 
Yet  let  us  try  the  hether 
Before  w^  tempt  the  weather ! 


1 

230  Boy  Song  m 


Yet  is  it  school,  all  school 

To  one  end; 
School  for  foe,  for  fool 

Or  for  friend ; 
So  sweet  lips  the  ghost  of  it, 
Try  to  make  the  most  of  it! 


I 


I 


ONE  AFTERNOON 

Those  were  wonderful  days  by  the  sea! 
Do  you  remember  those  days 
Made  of  purple  haze, 
Leaves  in  glee? 

Remember  what  sea-song  loaded  the  wind, 
How  our  northern  clouds  were  thinned. 
How  the  white  waves  grinned 
Where  we  went 

Along  the  beach  with  so  much  content 
And  love,  as  we  thought  it  then, 
Thinking  how  and  when 
There  should  be 

One  universe  just  for  you  and  me? 
For  there  is  one  master  truth 
We  thought  of  in  youth, 
Nothing  too  much 

For  soul  to  swallow  by  sight  and  touch, 
Nothing  too  great  to  be  known, 
Or  nothing  too  much 
To  be  grown 

In  my  inside  heart  so  I  may  own 
All  there  is  which  is  wide 
As  the  Dog-Star  stride. 
Worlds  beside, 
231 


232  One  Afternoon 

So  I  make  certain  how  all  I  see  1 

Makes  but  part  of  what  I  shall  be,  I 

All  eternity 

Part  of  me ; 

For  take  the  vastness  of  what  I  call 

Great  worlds,  endless  worlds,  no  all, 
And  I  seem  so  small. 
Yet  I  see 


They  make  but  part  of  the  whole  of  me, 
This  sufficient  soul  of  me 
To  feel  and  to  be! 

Mark  your  moon. 

Or  Vega  forever  overhead. 

Dying  always,  never  dead. 
And  his  shroud  is  spread; 
Mark  how  soon 

I  travel  yonder  to  each  new  star. 
And  it  matters  not  how  far ! 
Take  this  for  thought : 
Am  I  not 

More  than  the  angle  Capricorn  makes. 
More  than  Pollux  undertakes, 
And  I  come  to  see 
How  he, 

To  get  his  Beauty  must  come  to  me? 
Or  over  there  where  he  sleeps, 
Yet  his  watches  keeps, 
I  may  see 


I 


One  Afternoon  233 

Bundles  of  worlds  all  eternally 

Making  for  power  and  to  grow 
To  star-spots  to  glow, 
Yet  I  see 

They  only  glow  in  the  eyes  of  me! 
In  this  soul  I  kept  awhile 
Just  under  your  smile 
You  could  see 

Finger-ends  reaching  for  more  to  be, 
As  once  on  this  beach  we  stood 
In  another  mood 
Just  to  think 

Of  love  and  its  little  passion-link, 

While  now  that  the  link  is  snapped, 
Body  handicapped. 
Lip  and  cheek 

Scarce  a  corpuscle  left  to  speak. 
You  may  begin  now  to  see 
More  is  of  you  and  me 
Than  you  thought 

When  all  but  lip  and  cheek  was  forgot 
That  light  love-day  you  and  I 
Hung  to  cheek  and  eye 
And  breast 

And  lip-hug — what  counted  the  rest? 
Now  are  the  stars  out  bright 
In  this  perfect  night, 
And  you  know 


234  One  Afternoon 

Body  breaks,  yet  love  is  not  so, 
But  gives  you  its  full  glow 
Now  your  day  is  gone. 
Night  is  on. 

Have  one  look  to  the  sands  to  know 
How  they  hang  together  so, 
All  as  if  they  knew, 
Well  as  you. 

This  love  is  the  lasting  one  thing  true ! 

So  take  a  thought  to  this  end: 

See  the  back  unbend. 

Body  break, 

Yet  soul  forever  leans  wide  awake 
If  you  take  this  thing  to  heart: 
They  will  break  and  go, 
Cloud  and  glow. 

Yet  you  and  I  were  not  made  to  part, 
Soul  is  more  than  head  and  heart, 
Mighty  more  than  all 
Great  or  small, 

And  one  day  I  shall  come  to  your  call. 
Mark  how  worlds  to  worlds  will  run. 
How  sun  ties  to  sun, 
You  and  I, 

Do  you  think,  meant  only  to  die. 
Meant  for  one  life  and  its  fling, 
As  if  that  were  most 
God  could  boast, 


I 

I 
I 


One  Afternoon  235 

While  you  see  how  the  atoms  Hve  and  cling  ? 
So  I  thought,  down  on  the  quai, 
As  I  took  my  way 
There  to-day, 

Of  those  wonderful  other  days 

You  and  I  once  took  our  ways 
By  the  sea  for  love, 
Thinking  of 

Only  how  we  were  made  each  for  each, 
Never  thought  how  out  of  reach 
Much  is  in  one  life 
However  rife, 

Thinking  only  how  much  we  should  be, 
I  to  you  as  you  to  me — 

Then  came  life  between 
With  its  screen, 

I  only  I,  while  you  were  all  queen, 
And  somehow  I  thought  I  knew 
What  was  right  to  do 
For  me  and  you, 

So  we  parted  and  you  went  your  way 
Of  life  for  a  lap  of  play, 

I  to  my  lap  of  thought, 
Yet  not 

In  all  these  years  were  you  once  forgot. 
Or  loved  less  than  you  were  then 
On  the  sea-beach  when 
Life  was  less 


236  One  Afternoon 

Than  you  with  your  world  of  loveHness, 
While  now  in  your  heart  I  see 
My  place  there  for  me 
As  before, 

I  to  cling  to  it  more  and  more — 
Do  stars  to  each  other  fly, 
The  while  you  and  I 
Draw  our  sigh 

Just  only  to  pass  each  other  by? 
One  day  this  body  will  snap, 
Pitch  out  of  my  lap 
Of  thought, 

Be  brushed  aside  to  be  clean  forgot, 
Yet  there  remains  this  I 
To  be  reckoned  with, 
Soul  the  pith — 

See  how  it  does  not  want  to  die ! 
Yet  is  death  nature  and  so 

Knuckles  and  chuckles  must  go, 
But  yet 

I  am  all  I,  do  you  not  forget. 
My  intact  self  to  a  dot, 
Nor  a  fever  spot, 
You  shall  see, 

May  put  a  scar  in  the  soul  of  me. 
Fear  not,  my  time  shall  be  yet, 
There  is  place  to  get, 
Worlds  to  do, 


I 
I 


One  Afternoon  237 

And  soul  to  join  soul,  this  I  and  you. 
So  thinking  now  of  the  beach, 
Those  days  out  of  reach, 
And  we  late, 

Yet  this  soul  never  once  out  of  date, 
Never  I  come  to  forget 
How  all  time  is  yet, 
How  all  space 

May  spare  to  us  one  small  hiding-place, 
So  one  day  you  shall  descry, 

'Though  the  winds  may  sigh, 
Worlds  may  die. 

Much  is  this  something  called  you  and  I ! 


AGNES 

One  mullein-stalk  grew  in  a  willow- wood, 
To  a  lake's  edge  the  roots  were  glued, 

And  I  thought 
How  each  yellow-breasted  flower  was  wrought 
To  put  picture  to  this  very  spot. 

Lily-bird  in  a  branch  next  by 

Took  up  his  notes  between  song  and  sigh, 

And  I  said 
How  like  a  furnace  his  breast  is  red 
To  warm  the  cold  branches  overhead! 

One  coal-feathered  crow  stood  just  in  back 
To  make  the  most  of  his  dead-house  black, 

Yet  I  knew 
He  was  of  use  in  the  white  world  too, 
Just  as  your  dark  in  the  soul  of  you. 

See,  I  said,  those  are  yellowish  wings 
The  mullein-stalk  stretches  where  it  clings 

By  the  lake. 
As  if  there  were  sky  and  flight  to  take, 
Yet  an  old  kind  earth  here  to  forsake ! 

Oh,  Agnes,  I  said,  there  are  lip  and  tongue 
In  music  now,  and  your  days  are  young — 

Come  and  see 
How  the  wind  is  chopped  into  melody 
By  yonder  butcher-bird  in  his  tree ! 


Agnes  239 

Put  an  ear  to  this  holiday  time, 

Each  bush  will  peal  you  one  round  of  chime 

If  you  hark 
To  the  thistle-finch  in  his  yellow  park 
Shouting  his  soul  out  to  make  his  mark. 

Oh,  Agnes,  here  is  just  such  a  day 

As  you  and  I  made  most  of  one  May — 

You  were  there 
In  your  sun-path,  and  like  planet-glare 
Was  the  sheen-dance  in  your  velvet  hair. 

Or  what  could  it  count  if  winds  were  wet? 
They  drop  their  pearls  to  the  violet 

All  to  show 
Whole  worlds  may  shift,  winds  may  leap  and  blow, 
But  Beauty  will  capture  the  final  glow. 

Oh,  Agnes,  look  where  your  asters  lie 
Like  peach-bonnets  in  raspberry  dye, 

And  I  think: 
There  hang  your  grapeleaves,  link  by  link, 
Will  you  not  come  while  the  willows  wink? 

Will  you  not  come  to  me  where  they  grow 
Leaves  for  sun-blossoms  so  I  may  know 

There  's  a  place 
Which  waits  for  you  in  such  garden-space, 
Waits  for  your  girl-grown  picture-face? 

There  I  waited  while  she  never  came! 
Birds  about  me  were  calling  her  name 

At  coral  dawn 
As  if  to  tell  how  spirit  is  born 
Of  what  is  past  in  the  world  and  gone. 


24©  Agnes 

Oh,  Agnes,  I  called,  come  once  again! 
Here  lies  your  tree- walk,  your  sorrel  plain 

For  one  way 
You  took  with  me  that  heatherbell  day 
I  held  you  in  arms  like  a  month  of  May! 

Whatever  a  breath  of  life  be  worth, 
Soul  is  interrupted  by  this  earth, 

But  only  so 
As  clouds  interrupt  each  sun-born  glow 
To  turn  it  to  Beauty  of  chrome  and  bow. 

Could  she  come  and  I  called?     Nevermore  so! 
My  clouds  took  Beauty  to  break  and  go 

As  I  bent 
Where  she  lay,  where  her  mullein-stalk  sent 
One  finger  to  point  the  way  she  went. 


JOCKEY-DAY 

Stars,  how  we  flew 

To  the  quarter-post 
Like  eagles  to  split  the  wind  in  two 

And  horses  most ! 

I  jockey,  just  jockey  I 
Who  drove  the  black  devil,  Furnace  Eye — 
He  was  blue  banner  horse, 
All  bets  on  him  of  course — 
But  how  he  knotted  stifles  to  fly! 

On  to  the  half, 

I  was  clean  ahead, 
We  scattered  space  like  a  strip  of  chaff. 

So  the  people  said — 
My  horse — how  his  ears  were  thinned, 
.Laid  back  like  tree-tops  in  a  wind — 

Heard  nothing  when  they  cheered, 

Saw  not  when  the  half  was  neared, 
And  a  thousand  pockets  to  him  pinned! 

Now  for  the  wire, 

One  squat,  one  rush, 
Eyes  set,  two  side-lights  sifting  fire 

Into  spirit-blush — 
As  I  lined  him  to  the  pole 
I  thought  his  black  hide  bristled  soul — 
i6  241 


242  Jockey-Day 

When,  just  ahead,  a  child 
Crept  in  front,  cooed  and  smiled — 
Stop  could  I  not  nor  caracole 

Lest  I  should  lose 

My  inside  place, 
And  not  a  second  in  which  to  choose 

If  to  win  the  race 
And  mix  the  child  with  the  moor, 
A  thing  my  heart  could  not  endure. 

Or  shuffle  sideways  instead. 

Let  Cobwebs  come  in  head, 
'Though  it  left  a  thousand  pockets  poor — 

When,  quick  as  thought 

I  shifted  place — 
In  just  that  instant  the  child  was  caught 

And  clinging  to  my  face, 
I  third  as  the  wire  was  neared. 
Fearful,  each  second,  I  should  be  jeered, 

When,  the  people  from  all  parts. 

Like  a  hurricane  of  hearts 
Shouted  my  praises — oh,  how  they  cheered! 

I  to  the  stall, 

There  to  wait 
For  the  master's  cut-loose  caterwaul, 

His  showers  of  hate 
For  losing — no  reason  for ! — 
Buried  my  bones  in  a  clump  of  straw, 

Thought  I  could  hear  a  sigh 

From  the  heart  of  Furnace  Eye 
For  having  lost  too — no  reason  for ! 


Jockey- Day  243 


"Mercy,  sire, 

God  knows  as  'ow 
I  could  not  kill  the  child  no- ways,  sire, 

As  look  at  it  now 
How  I  did  me  my  best 
To  beat  the  gang — sire,  you  know  the  rest — 

But  to  kill  the  child 

And  it  cooed  and  smiled. 
Not  for  this  world  and  my  soul  and  breast ! " 

Arms  both  out  wide, 

The  master  flew 
To  where  the  boy  shrank  and  winced  and  cried, 

Caught  him,  kissed  him  through, 
Held  him  as  a  Concord  vine 
'Round  a  bough  fastens  lips  to  twine, 

And  "God,  boy,  come  closer — so — 

Tell  me,  did  you  not  know. 
Did  you  not  know  the  child  was  mine?" 


THE  MAN  OF  IT 

Like  as  her  cloak — 
And  it  hangs  now  over  my  shoulder-wall, 

Tassel  and  all, 
To  do  my  law  if  I  never  spoke — 
I  would  hold  her  so  she  should  see 

For  the  best  of  truth 

By  a  test  of  youth, 
How  the  best  of  all  is  the  man  of  me. 

For  so  it  is, 
Since  I  must  rule — this  nature  makes  it  so, 

While  whether  or  no 
I  do  my  best,  the  one  thing  is  this. 
To  bring  her  to  come  to  see 

How,  after  all, 

Her  world  is  small. 
While  the  best  of  it  is  the  man  of  me. 

My  kingdom  come, 
My  will  be  done  if  I  have  her  to  keep, 

Take  her  to  reap 
The  best  of  her  to  lose  not  a  crumb — 
I  shape  her  shoe-latch  to  just  my  way, 

Each  white  new  hand 

Like  a  velvet  band 
I  held  for  my  own  on  her  marriage-day. 
244 


The  Man  of  It  245 

Love  swallows  love, 
Is  masterful,  jealous  to  full  of  greed, 

And  the  man-made  need 
Is  this :  The  whole  is  never  enough 
To  plump  one  fancy,  glut  my  will; 

I  shape  her  bow 

Of  shoe-latch  so 
I  shall  be  master  and  master  still. 

Such  is  the  way 
Of  worlds — look  I  about  to  see 

How,  fixed  or  free, 
Each  star  has  a  mind  to  hide  each  day 
Soon  as  the  sun-lord  sweeps  into  place 

With  an  eye-shot  stern 

From  his  bosom-burn 
Which  would  see  them  quiver  to  hide  their  face. 

You  bite  your  lip? 
Have  an  instant's  patience  and  not  so  quick! 

You  see  I  pick 
This  polianthes'  white-hooded  slip, 
I  crush  it  into  nothingness 

To  get  the  whole 

Breath-sweeted  nowl — 
Would  you  say,  thereafter,  I  loved  it  less? 

My  essonite 
I  make  a  knuckle  of  to  keep  it  close 

As  a  Sharon  rose, 
Yet  so  I  may  have  it  first  in  sight 
To  clasp  one  finger,  I  to  share 

The  pink  of  it 

And  blink  of  it 
That  I  may  bend  it  to  master  it  there 


246  The  Man  of  It 

For  part  of  mc — 
See  how  it  clings  to  my  knuckle-end 

To  glint  and  bend 
As  I  would  have  it — now  shall  you  see 
How  each  new  twist  I  give  it  will  spill 

Another  spark 

Between  lids  of  dark 
And  I  watch  it  to  never  get  my  fill ! 

There  shall  be  one, 
Not  two — there  's  the  way  I  would  think  of  you— 

While  if  you  knew 
The  atom-way  since  the  world  begun, 
How  each  two  atoms  must  come  to  one, 

You  would  say  "Take  me 

For  one  with  thee 
By  the  law  of  my  love — thy  will  be  done!" 

I  see,  instead, 
How  you  long  for  power  that  you  may  be  free 

Of  the  man  in  me 
Which  loves  and  rules — power  to  wed 
More  freedom  so  to  get  more  power. 

As  if  to  rule 

Made  one  bosomful 
Of  life,  or  made  life  worth  an  hour ! 

My  way  of  love 
Is  to  master  to  make  you  one  with  me; 

But  look  to  see 
Your  own  way  which  perches  clean  above, 
Nor  bends  one  hair  of  power  or  will 

To  bring  me  to 

My  step  with  you, 
So  masters  to  overmaster  me  still. 


The  Man  of  It  247 

As  there  you  lie, 
A  thing  all  Beauty  so,  just  in  my  hand 

Like  a  garnet-brand. 
Took  your  red  lip  from  yonder  sky, 
Yet  you  keep  me  there  fast  to  your  cheek 

For  not  one  word 

Which  could  be  heard, 
But  just  by  the  Beauty  which  may  not  speak, 

Most  as  the  bee 
Will  light  to  strut  his  strut  like  a  king 

On  a  clover-wing 
For  the  power  of  it  to  be  foot-free 
To  pick  all  sweet  out,  get  his  share, 

Yet  this  summer  balm 

And  pink  new  charm 
Will  capture  to  win  him  and  pin  him  there. 

The  king  am  I, 
And  you  the  flower  of  ople-tree  breath 

Which  whispereth : 
"  My  king  are  you,  yet  there  you  lie 
Like  a  bee  in  a  rose  and  no  way  out, 

Since  you  would  not  go 

If  you  could,  and  so 
I  rule  you,  too,  by  my  way,  no  doubt." 

So  leave  me  be 
To  be  the  man  of  me  through  and  through 

To  show  to  you 
My  kingdom-will,  that  you  may  see 
By  what  I  would  do  for  love  of  thee. 

By  life  at  its  best, 

The  world  and  the  rest. 
How  the  best  of  all  is  the  man  of  me. 


VIEWFULLY 


Man  has  of  him  more  than  he  may  be 
In  one  small  pocket  of  eternity. 

There  's  good  reasoning  to  show  me  what 
Soul  is,  what  it  is  not, 

A  thing  of  which  all  things  may  he  posited, 
Not  to  be  shoe-shackled  or  once  closeted, 

More  of  it  always  and  always  to  be  got, 
Made  for  greatliness  somehow  to  be  wrought 

Out  of  battle,  the  close  clinch  of  resistance — 
There  's  the  secret  of  this  existence! 

One  tumbles  into  one  mistake 
Of  mourning  over  his  ache; 

One  whimpers  at  his  pie-fly  lot 
Because  he  could  gulp  and  glutton  not; 

One  groans  at  his  hoghood  belly 
Of  kitchen-tricks,  his  mountain  of  jelly; 

Life  looks  to  most  like  good  to  be  got 
At  high  hazard  and  whether  or  not, 

While  scarce  the  man  looks  ever  about 
To  see  good  in  him  to  be  got  out. 

Look  once  to  the  east  and  north, 
Then  to  your  force  to  be  put  forth 

For  man-masterfulness  to  fight 

The  Thor-God  or  northwind  bite, 
248 


Viewfully  249 

While  over  in  yonder  warm  west 
Is  your  sun-grave,  your  cenotaph-rest! 

Time  has  come  in  the  world  to  own 
This  soul  is  meant  to  be  grown ; 

But  how  grown?   Scarce  by  evasion-trick, 
By  kneeling  to  crux  or  candlestick — 

Now  in  the  world  is  time  it  were  known 
Soul  was  meant  to  be  mightied  and  grown 

By  battle,  by  just  the  bold  master-lick 
Of  pluck  and  purity  against  odds 

To  force  men  to  be  dominant  Gods. 


II 


Once  was  this  quaint  story  told 

In  such  long-ago  day  when  men  thought 
He  grew  greatest  whoever  got 

Most  the  world  could  give  of  gold 
Or  joy  or  the  glutton-lot 

Of  cormorant  to  stuff  his  pot: 
Two  men  began  life  one  way, 

Each  his  boy-heart  and  chuckle-play, 
Or  rough  at  it  for  cuff  and  row 

The  boy-way,  as  they  know  how. 
One  grew  up  his  way  to  think 

Man  means  mostly  gullet  and  sink 
To  take  in,  give  nothing  out 

More  than  bill-whistle,  stuffy  pout, 
Whistle  to  sound  his  pleasure 

Once  he  thinks  he  gets  full  measure. 
Pout  if  he  fears  he  may  get  less 

Than  his  own  and  his  neighbor-brother's  mess. 
First  he  reasoned  how  he  was  hollow, 

(Right  he  might  have  been  in  that !) 


250  Viewfully 

Next  he  knew  he  was  meant  to  follow 

One  supernal  talent  to  swallow 
— His  point  in  life  worth  aiming  at — 

So  first  the  thing  to  be  got  was  gold; 
What  could  there  be  in  life  without  gold 

A  man  should  cherish  to  have  and  hold? 
Book  is  to  read,  thought  is  to  swallow, 

Man  is  meant  to  bend  and  follow, 
Is  meant,  too,  to  compass  all  pleasure 

Till  he  get  his  bottleful-measure — 
Not  what  he  gave,  but  what  he  got 

He  counted  gain  and  lucky  lot. 
While  each  new  day  most  people  knew 

The  more  he  got  the  smaller  he  grew. 
How  to  grow  soul  was  a  thing 

Clean  outside  his  reckoning — 
How  to  grow  body  fatful-tough 

Was  art-most,  so  quite  enough. 
So  grew  the  body  of  him  great. 

Pig-sty  style  made  upper  thought, 
Genius  just  to  aggregate 

Stomach  to  hold  to,  whether  or  not. 
So  there  he  bibbled  and  ate. 

So,  too,  he  stuffed  his  skull 
Book- wise  till  each  wit  was  dull — 

Also  the  eye  must  be  glutted. 
Much  as  each  cheek  puffed  and  puttied. 

Till  fairly  he  came  to  see 
What  is,  never  what  is  to  be — 

Gave  himself  up  too  to  hearing 
Till  soon  he  grew  to  be  what  he  heard, 

Never  his  will  to  utter  a  word. 
Never  one  thought  of  interfering 

With  wrong  in  the  world  he  saw. 


ViewfuUy  251 

While  truth  was  scarce  worth  breathing  for. 

Each  day  by  little,  men  could  see, 
Soul  in  him  grew  less  and  less 

Down  to  next  to  nothingness 
Till  now  was  left  of  him  not  so  much 

As  the  tom-bee  grapples  in  one  clutch. 
There  so  he  died,  while  one  would  say 

He  grew  nothing  more  than  clay 
By  his  sponge-life  and  diaphragm-play. 

Oh,  friend,  soul  is  to  be  grown. 
As  like  your  child  in  arms, 

To  whom  is  nothing  known, 
Soon  will  take  on  body-charms, 

While  there  I  see  him  begin  to  grow 
From  not  a  soul  enough  to  wink 

Up  to  his  heart  to  feel  and  think 
And  greaten  each  way  so 

From  the  thing  he  was  at  first, 
Scarcely  more  than  his  pump  of  thirst, 

Basket  genius,  surcloyed,  cloddy, 
Little  more  than  wholly  body — 

And  now  the  man — there  the  last  whole  of  him 
Is  the  rising  sizing  soul  of  him ! 


Ill 


Think  you  all  soul  is  there 
Whether  you  will  or  not. 

Or  that  soul  is  soul  to  be  got. 
Like  blossom  in  an  April  air 

Which  forced  one  straight  way  up, 
Now  at  storm,  now  at  sun 

Ever  since  the  tug  begun. 
First  a  claw,  then  the  cup 


252  Viewfully  M 


And  lip  and  throat  to  try 
One  taste  of  orange  water-green  sky? 


IV 


My  other  boy  took  another  thought, 
Began  life  by  looking  about 

To  see  what  wrong  he  could  put  to  rout, 
What  kind  of  goodness  could  be  wrought 

By  the  most  which  he  could  make  of  him, 
So  he  let  the  world  take  of  him 

His  best  he  had,  struck  to  make 
Most  of  himself,  put  his  world  at  stake 

To  do  the  thing  which  was  right 
For  love  of  it,  struck  to  do 

His  highest  most,  his  best  he  knew 
For  never  the  half  of  a  thought 

Of  what  he  should  gain  by  it,  what  not, 
Only  that  he  should  gather  his  might 

To  straighten  him  to  his  highest  height — 
No  bending  before  Power, 

No  whining,  but  just  truing 
His  soul  to  see  it  tower — 

Will  God  not  see  men  up  and  doing 
To  stand  alone,  to  rise  alone 

By  force  of  virtue  and  straight  man 
To  deepen  the  heart,  widen  the  span 

To  reach  inside  the  spirit-zone? — 
What  shall  the  good  God  compass  to  do 

To  put  me  crouching  to  him,  to  you? — 
Never  an  atom  of  you  to  cower, 

Yourself  foremost  and  against  Power 
By  man-mastery  to  build  soul 

Out  of  resistance  and  the  whole 


J 


View  fully  253 

Of  trueness,  kindliness,  virtue, 

And  there  's  no  Power  to  stop  or  hurt  you — 
Power  is  beyond  me  and  above. 

Power  for  me  to  acquire  and  love 
For  ever  and  for  never  enough. 


Such  was  his  way  he  took  to  life, 
Did  his  best,  hugged  the  strife 

Which  allowed  him  nor  kingdom  nor  wife, 
Kingfully  at  it  to  the  last 

To  stop  never  to  count  the  cost 
Of  his  small  world  here  which  he  lost. 

Now  that  his  life  was  past, 
Now  the  thin  vein  begun  to  tingle. 

Now  soul  and  blood  grew  slow  to  mingle. 
You  would  say  surely  he  played 

To  life  which  borrowed,  yet  never  paid; 
You  would  say  his  battle  with  earth 

Brought  him  the  back  slap  of  pure  dearth, 
Left  him  bodiless  most,  old. 

Dewlap- wrinkles,  fold  on  fold, 
Now  soul  was  withdrawing  from  its  mould. 


VI 


But  hark,  there  's  a  voice  in  air. 
One  music- voice,  like  a  morning  wind 

Which  never  was  lowered  or  thinned, 
A  child's  voice,  the  silver  sound  was  there, 

All  heart-leap  and  not  a  care! 

Said  the  child:  "I  know  of  you! 
They  say  your  way  in  the  world  was  sad 


2  54  Vievvfully 

Where  the  rest  were  merry-glad, 
They  tell  how  you  hung  to  what  was  true, 
Made  the  noblest  best  of  you, 

' '  Till  now  they  say  you  will  die 
And  nothing  's  for  you  who  did  so  well. 

Save  only  your  passing-bell 
And  narrow  ground-spot  below  the  sky, 

Yet  never  one  reason  why 

"  You  who  are  manfullest  man, 
Who  gave  your  life  to  the  rest  of  men 

To  have  it  never  again, 
Should  take  your  place,  on  the  ground- worm  plan. 

To  die  under  mock  and  ban. 

"Just  the  child  I  am  you  see. 
And  scarce  a  thing  of  the  world  I  know, 

Yet  this  thought  haunted  me  to  and  fro: 
One  mighty  bond  fastens  you  and  me, 

One  love  and  one  life  to  be, 

"  Since  you  with  the  world  are  through, 
Have  lived  your  life  and  are  out  of  it. 

While  I  am,  past  a  doubt  of  it, 
Not  yet  of  the  world  to  be  or  do, 

Only  a  child — so  are  you 

"One  with  me  in  this  one  way: 
Out  of  the  world  we  are  dropped,  you  see, 

Nothing  here  for  you  or  me 
To  look  to,  neither  a  part  to  play, 

And  the  world  will  go  its  way 


Viewfully  255 

"  To  leave  us  this  much  behind — 
Are  we  not  one  by  the  spirit-plan, 

I  the  child  and  you  the  man, 
Both  of  a  soul  which  is  high  inclined, 

Both  of  one  new  unworldly  mind? 

"  Is  there  not  for  you  and  me 
Place  in  the  vast  eternal  places? 

Think  you  their  endless  spaces 
Make  homes  for  atoms  and  not  for  me, 

Waste  lands  of  eternity? 

"  More  is  man  than  man  may  know, 
For  there  's  my  sign  in  my  yonder  star — 

Look  how  it  smalls  and  is  far. 
And  now  at  my  cheek  with  such  copper  glow 

That  I  may  see  and  may  know, 

"  By  what  there  is  to  be  seen. 
How  light  in  me  is  the  light  out  there. 

How  the  soul  of  things  is  fair. 
How  more  is  to  be  than  what  hath  been, 

More  than  eye  or  heart  hath  seen! 

"So  take  my  hand,  let  us  go 
Our  way,  one  way  which  I  know  of  you, 

A  way  which  is  highest  true 
To  point  to  straight  where  my  star-spots  glow, 

And  I  will  follow  you  so, 

"For  love  is  long  when  you  find 
Two  souls  which  are  one  by  the  common  lot 

Of  Beauty  and  part-me-not, 
One  above  body  and  world  and  mind, 

All  meant  to  be  left  behind." 


256  Vievvfully 

VII 

He  died — the  child  grew  up  her  way, 

Took  her  place  in  the  world — there  's  much 
To  see  and  think  of  and  taste  and  touch, 

Many  a  game  to  counter-play 
Before  soul  comes  with  a  thing  to  say — 

For  now  she  was  here  at  a  dance,  now  there 
To  hear  one  tell  how  her  cheek  was  bright. 

How  spirit  spoke  in  her  shoulder  bare. 
In  the  elbow-point  now  the  skin  was  tight 

To  shine  like  an  eye  to  you,  brown  and  white 
Listened  while  one  unbuttoned  his  heart. 

Not  a  trap- word  nor  breath  of  art. 
But  she  was  his  whim  and  counterpart — 

Men  grew  'round  her  each  mellow  hour 
As  bees  light  at  their  almond  flower 

For  what  was  most  of  her  and  fair 
To  find  opal  only  or  topaz-glare, 

Just  her  cold  color  which  was  there 
As  up  she  grew,  as  on  she  went 

Never  to  turn  to  the  world  one  cheek 
For  love,  for  one  little  incident 

To  find  her  forgetting  her  childful  vow 
To  follow  him  who  had  gone  before — 

She  should  have  him  her  way  somehow, 
Since  always  beyond  us  is  more  and  more. 

So  she  grew  old  as  he  was  once, 
Played  her  part  in  the  world  so  well, 

Stood  to  hard  duty  against  affronts 
Till  now  the  neighbor  ones  love  to  tell 

How  she  kept  her  vow,  how  she  did  so  well. 
Came  through  the  world,  would  not  part 

From  her  highway  of  the  heart, 


Viewfully  257 


Her  longing  and  power  to  do 

Her  best,  as  he  did  too, 
To  hang  to  the  world  to  train  each  mood 

For  mastery  and  some  monster-good — 
Shall  she  not  have  him  one  day 

By  her  deeper  heart,  her  higher  way? 
Have  you  a  doubt  of  whether 

Two  souls  like  such  souls  come  together? 
17 


I 


OOTRUM  AND  CORNCOCKLE 

Only  a  buttonhole  knot  of  flowers — 

Her's  was  a  way 
Each  morning  of  each  amiable  day 

At  early  hours 
To  tap  her  new  garden-bed 
For  a  flower  which  was  white  or  salmon  red, 

While  he,  her  pet  of  the  salmon  eye. 

Took  his  place 
Where  he  could  show  her  his  welcome  grace, 

Could  draw  his  sigh 
To  be  seen  of  her  and  heard; — 
As  if  his  thin  spirit  could  be  stirred ! 

All  things  for  him !     So,  smart  as  a  wink 

She  was  there. 
And  never  thought  nor  blossom  to  spare, 

Corn-flower  or  pink. 
As  if  his  soul  could  be  muched. 
Or  the  heart  in  him  anyway  tapped  or  touched ! 

What  of  that?     Was  he  not  above  her 

By  height  of  hat. 
While  what  should  a  girl  ask  more  than  that 

Of  any  lover? 
To  see  him  at  his  full  height 

Was  enough — men  would  fancy  the  girl  was  right, 
25S 


Ootrum  and  Corncockle  259 

He  was  her  right  hand  and  ready  choice — 

All  could  see 
Her  eye  dance  like  a  meadow-bee 

At  his  voice — 
All  could  see  her  wince  to  show 
How  she  looked  up  to  him,  loved  him  so. 

Think  you  he  thought  the  same  way  too, 

Had  a  mind 
For  aught  which  was  love  or  half  way  kind 

Or  any  way  true? 
Not  he,  by  the  Powers  that  rule! 
He  took  his  cue  of  another  school ! 

Women  to  him  were  flowers  to  be  picked, 

Were  birds  in  air 
To  fly  to  to  get  the  Beauty  there. 

Meant  to  be  tricked 
And  wheedled  and  fooled  to  death — 
What  is  life  here  more  than  a  breath? 

This  clean  high  morning  of  May  she  drew, 

For  love  of  him 
And  to  please  her  heart  and  girlhood-whim, 

To  where  there  grew 
Ootrum  and  corncockle  rare, 
While  she  twisted  their  stalks  for  his  breast  to  wear. 

I  saw  her  rush  to  him,  flowers  in  hand. 

As  if  to  say : 
Here  is  my  heart  for  you  to  stay 

And  understand ! 
I  saw  her  fingers  do  their  part 
As  if  each  had  soul  in  it  and  heart. 


26o  Ootrum  and  Corncockle 

I  heard  the  gate  growl  as  he  went, 

For  where  I  eyed 
I  saw  him  toss  the  flowers  aside 

As  if  he  meant 
To  put  her  clean  out  of  mind 
So  soon  as  he  left  her  sweet  look  behind. 

There  was  I  quick  at  his  heels  and  took 

The  flowers  to  me — 
Now  was  my  chance  to  let  her  see 

His  robber-look, 
His  self,  nor  a  word  to  shade  him, 
But  just  as  he  was  for  fact  as  God  made  him. 

So  next  day  right  as  she  came  to  see 

Her  flowers  at  my  breast. 
Never  a  word,  yet  doing  their  best 

To  speak  for  me, 
I  saw,  'though  no  need  of  sight, 
Her  heart  prick  the  sweet  lip  red  and  white. 

"The  flowers  are  mine,  as  you  see,"  I  said, 

"For  I  plucked  them  there 
As  they  lay  in  the  grasses  unaware 

Of  sky  overhead — 
Mine,  they  are  mine  and  to  keep ! 
Will  you  wake  them,  or  will  you  let  them  sleep? 

"I  caught  them  right  as  he  flung  them  aside, 

While  but  for  me 
There  they  had  lain  for  none  to  see. 

Had  drooped  and  died — 
May  I  not  wear  them  for  true 
And  for  just  my  one  manfullest  love  of  you? 


Ootrum  and  Corncockle  261 

"For  time  will  come  and  the  whole  truth  will 

When  you  shall  see 
Inside  the  soul  and  heart  of  me, 

Where  thought  is  still, 
Your  image,  the  which  I  wear 
For  the  power  and  the  hope  of  me  everywhere. 

"Do  you  love  him  now,  one  day  shall  come 

To  think  of  it 
How  his  soul  he  has  is  gridiron  and  spit 

And  bubble-hum — 
Lo,  he  shall  pass  out  of  sight 
As  a  cloud  half  hung  to  an  edge  of  night!" 

Then  came  one  tiny  smile  when  she  said: 

"Yes,  you  may  wear 
My  flowers  for  thought  of  me,  if  you  care — 

But  know  instead. 
My  heart  has  been  stript  and  left 
That  I  may  grow  the  wiser  for  the  theft. 

"Patience,  therefore,  is  the  thing  I  ask, 

That  you  may  know 
This  soul  was  meant  to  deepen  and  grow — 

There  's  my  task 
To  make  my  heart  over  new 
To  wisen  and  deepen  and  grow  to  you!" 


KNOW  THY  TASK 


Now  goes  my  scrub-man  scrubbing 
At  one  round  big  pig-headed  spot 

Which  daubs  his  floor.     If  he  tries  or  not, 
On  he  goes  scraping,  rubbing, 

Doing  his  mortal  best  at  it 

To  scrub  the  spot  out,  bit  by  bit, 

Never  gaining  ground  a  whit. 

II 

Lather  and  sand,  what  a  mess 

Of  grit  and  grease  and  knuckleness 

He  deals  the  spot  to  rub  it  out, 

Flings  himself  that  rough  about. 

One  might  say,  and  no  jest. 

Give  him  time  enough  at  his  best 

He  '11  rub  the  world  out  by  his  zest. 

Ill 

Strange  one  thing  about  it  was: 
'Spite  of  any  way  he  worked, 

Of  how  his  elbow  jammed  and  jerked 
Like  mulishness  and  never  a  pause, 

Never  yielding  his  hold  a  pinch. 

In  spite  of  his  each  dig  and  clinch 

The  big  spot  yielded  never  an  inch. 
262 


Know  Thy  Task  263 


IV 


Spoke  I  to  him  then  this  way: 

You  hold  a  purpose  high  in  hand 

To  take  such  spot  out  of  floor  or  land 
And  it  a  part  of  the  common  clay! 

Look  how  it  sticks  in  place, 

Baffles  you  a  thousand  ways, 

Neither  greatens  nor  decays! 


Mebbe  if  you  stop  to  think 

You  may  choose  to  let  it  stay. 

Rest  your  elbow,  save  your  swink 
For  a  better  kind  of  pay — 

Spots  are  spots,  one  part  of  earth 

Meant  to  give  the  bright  side  birth, 

Show  what  cleanliness  is  worth. 

VI 

Or  they  stick  like  a  gang  of  plasters 

To  rule  you,  become  your  masters — 

Look  at  you  now  there  trying  to  please: 

One  spot  has  brought  you  to  your  knees, 

Hangs  you  on  hinges  like  a  gate, 

Puts  you  swinging  early  to  late, 

Gives  you  your  crooked  crab-ankle  gait! 

VII 

Subtle  spots — how  little  you  know  them ! 

One  way  you  have  of  thinking  is 
You  better  be  above  than  below  them ! 

Another  view  of  the  thing  is  this : 


264  Know  Thy  Task 

There  's  your  spot  of  ugly  brown 

Underneath  the  feet  of  a  town, 
Yet  bends  your  back,  holds  you  down ! 

VIII 

There  's  my  spot  on  yonder  sky. 

One  cloud  only,  small  as  the  pup, 

Yet  has  a  sun  for  an  eye 

Looks  down  to  me  while  I  look  up 

To  catch  the  up-Heaven  view 

Of  heliotrope  quivering  through, 

Cherry  in  a  soul  of  blue. 


IX 


Rub  and  scrub  and  stamp — 

But  look,  there  's  a  light  behind  you, 
Only  a  bob-about  lamp 

I  place  in  front  just  to  unblind  you 
And,  lo,  your  spot  is  gone. 

Has  shifted  back  of  you  anon — 
Only  your  shadow  you  scrubbed  upon ! 


Who  may  rub  himself  out, 

Work  he  never  so  wisely? 
Who  may  put  soul  to  rout, 

Aim  he  never  so  nicely? 
Man  and  spirit  are  fast  friends, 

Completely  'round  him  the  shadow  trends, 
Shadow  begins  where  body  ends. 


THE  MAN  MILITANT 

What  could  be  worse 
Than  a  universe 
At  poverty-pitch, 
You  and  you 
To  beg  a  way  through, 
Contented  to  tie  a  shoe. 

Scratch  an  itch, 
Happy  at  the  thought 
Of  what  you  are  not, 
Your  foot  in  my  meadow- trap  ditch? 
Our  universe 
Holds  nothing  worse 
Than  Power  to  be  acquired, 
For  look  to  the  deeps  to  see 
Whole  high  sublimity 
Of  Beauty,  the  Power  to  be  desired! 
You  are  my  militant-man 

To  fight  out  a  way 
To  your  new  other  day 
Of  deeper  sight-light,  loftier  span. 
So  hark  to  my  story  which  was  told 

By  people  growing  old 
In  hill-life,  mountain-climbing, 
So  knew  a  way  of  soul-subliming 
By  climbing  and  ever  climbing. 
265 


266  The  Man  Militant 


He  was  thirty,  my  strong  man  was, 

Had  fought  his  way  in  forty  wars 
For  single-handed  mastery 

The  way  the  world  does  to  get  power 
Which  comes  of  hatred  and  devastery 

And  men  are  taught  to  kneel,  to  cower. 
So  he  came  forward  in  the  world. 

Making  his  way  by  force  of  arms ; 
He  should  be  gold-purpled-earled. 

Take  on  buttony,  kenspeckle  charms, 
Play  first  host,  popiilar  prince 

To  watch  men  buckle  their  lips  and  wince 
And  wallow  in  subordination — 

What  mattered  the  whole  bright  creation 
If  he  could  grind  his  people  down 

To  lickspittle,  worship  his  frown? 
What  mattered  it,  too,  if  his  father 

Picked  life  out  of  one  one-handed  farm? 
Would  he  not  therefore  rather 

His  son  should  swing  mightiest  arm 
For  certainty  to  command. 

His  word  to  perch  law-like  in  the  land? 
One  thing  in  life  he  mastered  first. 

To  make  his  way  up  the  world  to  most  high- 
Shall  a  man  not  satisfy  thirst, 

Glut  his  fancy  ere  he  die? — 
So  was  his  creed  to  crowd  his  way  up, 

Seize  the  crown-most,  drain  each  cup — 
There  was  the  life  of  it,  one  high  hill 

To  mount  to  to  get  his  fill, 
Nor  look  to  it  once  to  stopi 

Till  he  should  stuff  his  quadrangle-crop. 


The  Man  Militant  267 


II 


Came  now  his  time  to  love, 

Came  now  his  first  glimpse  above 
Commony,  higher  than  the  world, 

Sky- ways  where  light  is  hurled 
Against  us  that  we  may  climb 

Towards  it,  moth-like,  out  of  dark  and  slime, 
Soon  to  learn  how  man-hearted  struggle 

Counts  men  more  than  to  dodge  and  juggle. 
Gerald  should  wed,  so  the  father  thought: 

Soon  came  the  lady,  like  blessings  do, 
Oft  when  you  seek  them  not, 

As  if  for  sweet  surprise  to  you, 
Came  in  one  unawares-way 

Like  this :     One  wonderful  afternoon 
Of  an  ivory  lapstreak  day  in  tune 

He  took  him  to  the  river, 
The  deep  Willowquiver, 

To  watch  his  moonfish  play, 
To  wander  there,  perchance  to  think 

What  spirit  talks  through  a  meadowink, 
Or  sorrows  because  time  has  begun 

To  pick  wrinkles  in  the  moon  and  sun, 
When,  right  as  he  halted  at  the  brink 

Next  to  the  bridge  high  overhead 
To  harken  to  one  bobolink. 

Watch  him  sidle  from  green  to  red, 
Sudden  enough  there  caught  his  eye 

In  the  water-mirror  under 
Such  form  of  a  girl  as  drew  his  sigh 

To  hold  him  heart-bound  just  for  wonder 
At  the  Beauty  of  her — nor  he  stopped  to  see 

If  the  sight  could  be  true  reality. 


268  The  Man  Militant 

But  like  an  arrow  in  the  blue  is  lunged, 

Swift  as  thought  is,  in  he  plunged, 
Down  without  a  pause 

Clean  to  where  the  figure  was 
To  find,  of  all  that  seemed  so  fair. 

Only  the  shadow  of  her  there. 
Up  he  came  next,  while  there 

On  the  bridge,  looking  eager-wise 
To  know  if  she  could  trust  her  eyes. 

Stood  the  same  figure,  sumptuous-fair, 
He  too  looking  to  see 

What  he  now  took  for  verity. 
Such  a  sun-girl  as  the  sun 

Seemed  to  cling  to,  each  side, 
As  if  he  were  full  of  finger-pride 

At  his  masterstroke — now  for  a  run 
Up  the  bank — now  he  begun 

His  first  lesson  to  climb 
Higher  than  life  to  what  is  sublime 

Above  thinking,  beyond  doubt — 
Beauty — the  only  one  thing  ever 

Man  looks  to,  yet  may  compass  never. 
Past  losing,  past  all  finding  out. 

Soon  he  was  there  at  her  pretty  hand, 
Spell-held  so  by  what  he  saw, 

His  Undine-girl  for  not  a  flaw. 
She  too  all  heart  to  understand 

He  plunged  in,  never  a  quaver, 
Bounden  to  see  if  he  could  save  her. 

There  in  that  plump  afternoon 
Of  such  honeysuckle  June 

They  stood  on  their  semi-circle  bridge, 
Each  to  look  in  the  other's  eyes. 

Two  eagles  on  one  mountain-ridge — 


The  Man  Militant  269 

Should  they  leap  up  to  outface  skies, 

Or  make  descent  to  pick  up  earth 
And  its  twopence-worth? 

Leastwise  now  the  day  was  enough, 
So,  too,  was  their  purpose — love! 

Down  to  the  fields  he  plunged  again, 
Brought  her  one  apple-blossom  branch 

He  smothered  so  in  holly 
That  she  should  see  his  heart  was  stanch. 

See  he  would  clasp  and  hide  her  wholly — 
Then  to  show  how  he  could  love  her 

Like  aught  below,  since  nought  was  above  her, 
He  pointed  down  in  the  river-deep 

To  where  her  shadow  now  was  fast 
Like  Beauty  in  everlasting  sleep, 

Glad  to  have  given  up  all  its  charms 
Into  the  lover-river's  arms, 

"There,"  he  said,  "rather  would  I 
Leave  life,  plunge  in  and  die 

By  the  side  of  you  there  where  you  lie 
In  image,  than  lose  you  now 

I  have  you  under  sun  and  bough. 
As  only  my  heart  could  whisper  how 

I  love — there  's  your  bottle-green 
Ribbon-flower,  I  see  your  star. 

Green  too,  I  see  it  bubble  sheen 
Or  rouge  of  cinnabar — 

There  's  your  chat-call  in  yonder  bough. 
Yet  you  may  not  tell  me  how 

He  makes  this  June  wind  tingle. 
How  deep  in  his  dancing  eye. 

Sprung  wide  at  his  own  ballady. 
Fire  and  spirit  seem  to  mingle — 

There  's  Beauty  under  the  sun, 


2  70  The  Man  Militant 

Star- ticketed,  blood-shotten, 

Yet  one  thing  nearly  were  forgotten, 
I  and  you  were  meant  to  be  one 

Or  Beauty  to  be  left  undone. 

Away,  away 

Over  meadow  and  sea 

For  love,  for  a  day 

And  life  with  me — 

Few  are  the  hours, 

Brief  the  play 

Of  my  sparrow-flowers  — 

Life  is  to  glut 

To  the  over-jut. 

Meadow  to  pick, 

Shadow  to  cheat 

All  for  a  lick 

Of  honey  sweet — 

Winds  to  their  sighs. 

Sorrow  to  bleat 

And  purpose  dies! — 

Love  is  for  lip, 

For  whited  arm. 

Never  to  slip 

The  elbow-charm 

Or  captainship 

Of  one  small  new  palm — 

Sorrow  is  long, 

Love  as  brief 

As  your  lilac-leaf, 

Life  's  for  the  strong — 

Mighty  or  small. 

Make  of  it  much. 

Death  has  a  clutch, 


The  Man  Militant  271 

Lips  have  a  tingle- touch 
Keenest  of  all! " 


III 


Thereso  now  as  they  stood, 
Lip  against  lip  at  the  bridge's  rail 

Each  in  one  life-forgotten  mood 
When  soul  is  master,  thoughts  fail, 

Right  as  he  caught  at  her  locks  of  hair 
To  swallow  the  sunshine  which  was  there 

And  not  a  spark's  sparkle  he  could  spare. 
Held  her  for  life,  for  death. 

Scarce  willing  she  should  give  a  breath 
Lest  the  corn-flower  unloose  its  knittle, 

Reach  up  just  to  snatch  a  little — 
Right  as  he  thought  he  had  her  to  hold 

Fast  as  a  strip  of  marigold, 
She  looked  him  longingly  in  the  eyes, 

Brought  him  to  this  subtle  surprise: 
"My  image  is  there,  hung  in  your  eyes. 

Just  my  image  is  all  you  see. 
Only  a  sunlight  sketch  of  me, 

Nothing  more  than  what  you  saw 
In  the  river  just  underneath, 

Nothing  that  could  think  or  breathe, 
My  image  you  plunged  and  sputtered  for — 

A  shadow  is  all  you  see, 
Just  the  tiny  shadow  of  me 

Like  nothing  I  am  really — 
Likewise  so  is  your  blossom-lip 

For  sweetness,  and  I  must  let  it  slip 
For  the  thin  air  which  stands  between  us 

Just  to  separate  and  screen  us — 


2  72  The  Man  Militant 

See,  too,  how  you  look  to  rejoice 

At  my  midsummer-welcome  voice, 
When  all  you  get  is  this  message-air. 

Only  the  ripple  of  me  is  there! 
Just  to  think  of  it  how  men  look. 

And  life  is  one  conundrum-book. 
Nor  matters  it  how  they  try  to  guess 

And  the  answer  there  always,  'Yes  and  yes!' 
So  say  I  'Yes,'  there  is  for  me 

One  surmounting  reality 
To  ply  to,  put  shoulder  at, 

And  no  God  lives  to  deny  me  that ! 
Try  to  look  how  you  will  to  see, 

You  get  only  the  image  of  me 
If  you  look  for  me  in  my  eyes 

Or  down  where  the  river  lies. 
To  prove  you,  by  wind  or  rivulet. 

The  time  to  have  me  is  not  yet. 
Is  not  here,  is  not  now 

Under  heaven,  under  this  mountain  bough. 


"  So-ho,  I  'm  the  mountain-girl. 
My  people  the  mountain  climb 
Fast  where  star-winds  purl 
To  tumble  thought  into  chime — 
So-ho  for  the  way  I  go 
Clean  above  earth  beyond 
Doghood  and  bond 
Where  my  sunbeams  blow 
Little  crystals  of  snow 
Into  amber  frond, 
Into  lilac-wings. 
Into  heavenly  kings! 


The  Man  Militant  273 

"So-ho  for  the  way  I  see 

Above  cheap  immunity 

Always  to  climb  and  climb, 

Always  from  height  to  height, 

Always  my  blue-line  flight 

Above  knuckles  and  time 

For  more  soul  and  might 

And  point  sublime ! 

Never  to  weary  a  day, 

Never  to  drop  by  the  way 

Is  the  life  I  sing 

For  your  listening, 

Is  my  calling  of  bride 

Up  the  mountain-side, 

Is  my  hope  for  you 

That  you  strike  to  do, 

That  you  follow  me 

Where  I  look  and  I  see 

Beauty  beyond  in  the  zenith  blue, 

We  to  be  one  with  it,  never  two, 

Your  heart  in  mine,  my  heart  in  you ! " 


Now  an  edge  of  evening  was  on. 

Softly  she  turned  to  him,  Hghtly  said: 
"Only  an  instant  turn  you  your  head" — 

Right  as  he  looked  again  she  was  gone! 
There  crept  her  river  as  before. 

Overhead  her  bridge  was  swung 
Like  a  rainbow  of  mushroom  tongue, 

And  not  an  image  of  her  more 
In  the  river  which  wallowed  under. 

He  with  his  heart  of  baffled  wonder 
18 


274  The  Man  Militant 

To  know  where  he  should  find  her — 

Sudden  her  words  were  back  to  him 
To  climb,  there  was  her  mountain- whim 

And  he  must  follow,  he  must  mind  her, 
For  had  she  not  said:     "Up  above  earth 

If  you  would  get  your  trouble-worth?" 
Off  to  the  mountain  he  followed, 

Dark  was  on,  day  was  swallowed — 
What  of  the  nothing-night 

So  I  hold  to  my  peak  of  light? 
There  was  her  noble  mountain  high 

Reaching  nearly  to  the  sky 
Where  the  color-clouds  flower  and  die — 

He  should  be  man  for  all  might 
Through  the  worst  of  it  to  take  flight 

Where  the  snows  smuggle  eternal  light! 


VI 


Up  a  piece  of  the  mountain  now. 

Short  piece  up,  there  he  saw 
One  temple-dome  like  a  narrow  brow. 

One  priest  with  his  lobster-claw 
To  clutch  and  chew  and  swallow 

The  soul  of  a  man  if  he  came  to  follow — 
Said  the  Priest,  with  this  smacking  lie: 

' '  Since  man  was  made  to  mildew  and  die, 
Better  for  him  he  knuckle  under — 

Up  above  is  a  slap  of  thunder. 
Fire  to  split  the  noblest  sky. 

So  have  a  care  how  you  venture  up, 
Or  drink  wisdom  out  of  a  skull. 

Which,  at  best,  is  one  shallow  cup, 
Narrow  waisted,  bottom  up. 


The  Man  Militant  275 

So  holds  nothing,  but  only  spills 
Knowledge  overboard  fast  as  it  fills. 

Above  this  temple  you  may  not  climb 
Whose  dome  is  an  envelope  of  truth — 

Here  is  a  place  to  plant  your  youth, 
Since  here  is  God's  one  point  sublime 

Above  which  there  goes  no  going 
Save  where  you  see  the  wild  snow  blowing 

Into  ravages  to  beat  you  back 
If  you  would  mount  by  a  higher  knack, 

If  you  would  transcend  the  Temple-track, 
But,  hark,  here  is  a  temple  of  peace, 

Puts  soul  and  mind  of  you  at  ease — 
Once  you  take  to  my  way  of  winking 

There  's  no  further  need  of  thinking — 
Be  cocksure  of  it  I  know  best, 

I  give  you  dormancy  and  rest, 
Heaven  to  lust  for,  life  to  plunder 

If  you  stop  here  and  knuckle  under." 

Gerald. 

I  lost  my  heart  in  the  plains  below, 

So  is  there  any  wonder 

I  look  aloft  there  yonder 
For  Beauty,  the  way  I  saw  her  go, 

One  way  she  pointed  I  should  know, 
Her  lavender-path,  'though  it  go 

Straight  against  winter's  biting  snow? 
Beauty  took  root  in  earth. 

One  whole  pink  oleander- worth. 
But  there  it  could  not  stay, 

So  bore  flight  ward  one  evening-day. 
And  so  I  lost  her.     There  she  went 


2  76  The  Man  Militant 

Climbing  this  mountain-monument 
To  Beauty,  there  where  sun  and  leven 

Put  their  pigment  of  rose 
Or  straw-stripe  against  the  snows 

Which  fall  like  autumn-leaves  of  Heaven. 
By  just  what  a  man  opposes, 

That  much  he  gains  in  power — 
See  where  your  mountain  rose  is 

Higher  than  you,  look  how  the  flower 
Makes  for  height  nor  counts  any  cost, 

Hand  to  hand  with  fire  and  frost 
'Though  the  Paradise-fields  below  be  lost! 

You  mark  time,  set  your  limit. 
There  's  your  eyesight  of  the  emmet 

Which  builds  you  a  dome  like  an  ugly  pout 
To  shut  your  sky- view  and  great  Self  out. 

There  are  you  hanging  to  earth 
And  its  hobgoblin-birth, 

Witch-worried,  looking  for  pay. 
Cringe  and  worship  and  skulk  and  pray. 

Nor  look  how  yonder  mountain  points 
Where  Pleiades'  lustre-spot  anoints. 

For  me  no  part  of  your  earth 
Now  I  see  how  Beauty  rises 

Where  boundless  sky  and  spirit-size  is 
Above  all  price  or  temple- worth. 

I  'm  the  man  for  beating  my  way 
Into  more  than  this  cuticle-play, 

So  I  'm  to  have  my  thought  and  say, 
I  'm  to  be  I,  there  's  the  princely  point 

Puts  your  shy  nose  out  of  joint; 
I  'm  to  be  I,  there  's  the  kingly  thing 

Counts  without  your  reckoning; 
I  'm  to  be  I,  no  part  of  you 


The  Man  Militant  277 

For  paste-pot  service  that  you  may  glue 
My  nose  to  your  pet  bugaboo, 

Since  God  made  a  man  one  way  so 
He  should  shoulder-spread  to  know 

Soul  was  fashioned  to  climb  and  grow. 
By  my  life  I  will  reach  to  Beauty, 

The  thing  among  worlds  worth  growing  to, 
None  of  your  Heaven  for  booty. 

None  of  the  halt  and  hitch  of  you, 
But  m}^  way  at  it,  mine,  mine, 

This  soul-self  of  me,  which  is  divine. 
Out  of  reach  of  your  tongue  and  tine. 

You  proclaim  the  weakness  of  man 
And  smallness  of  him,  his  sufferance. 

His  mink-eyed  insignificance. 
To  map  your  ecclesiastic  plan — 

I  proclaim  his  omnipotence, 
His  power  of  spirit  for  striking  high 

As  worlds  puncture  the  target-sky, 
The  will  of  him  to  do  his  best 

For  none  of  your  bribery  or  behest. 
His  heart  to  love,  to  endure. 

While  nought  he  knows,  nothing  sure 
Save  the  tiger-leap  of  death 

To  down  him  and  snap  his  breath. 
He  single-handed  against  Power 

To  snuff  his  heart  out  on  the  hour, 
He  to  pilot  his  way  against  dark. 

He  to  laugh  at  your  blizzard-bark, 

He  to  endure  as  Gods  endure 
For  the  true  man  in  him,  nothing  truer, 

All  quantity  of  new  desire 
For  highest  Beauty,  nothing  higher. 

Foremost  for  truth,  to  hold  to  his  way 


278  The  Man  Militant 

By  not  one  quirk  you  have  to  play, 

His  truth  just,  his  merely, 
Howsoever  it  strike  you  queerly, 

For  there's  the  man  of  him  to  be  grown 
To  own  himself,  he  wholly  his  own, 

And  nowise  for  once  your  whelp 
To  follow  your  quill- whistle,  bloodhound  yelp. 

Ah,  but  here  you  lug  God  in, 

Tie  him  to  my  wrist  or  shin, 
By  which  you  think  to  make  more  of  me 

Than  I  alone  by  myself  could  be — 
You  would  see  me  dependent,  uplooking. 

Good  for  a  leaf  in  your  noodle-booking, 
Whip-snap  just,  lip  of  wax 

To  take  impression  of  your  knacks — 
While  all  the  while  is  it  not  true 

There  's  nothing  nobler  a  God  should  do 
Than  make  another  God  of  you? 

Oh  for  once  to  be  like  a  God 
In  contest  with  a  universe 

From  gaping  sky  to  gaping  sod, 
To  care  not  for  better,  for  worse, 

Nor  for  what  may  come  in  the  end 
Save  only  where  the  stars  abscond 

There  's  other  finer  Beauty  beyond 
For  me  to  make  to  and  make  of 

And  no  lack  of  it,  yet  never  enough, 
Seeing  I  compass  more  truth  of  thought 

Than  in  my  single  life  may  be  wrought, 
Endless  perfecting  by  endurance. 

By  manfulness  of  soul  and  heart 
To  make  the  most  of  me,  do  my  part 

At  self-construction  by  hard  duty. 


The  Man  Militant  279 

By  force  of  pure-hearted  intention, 

No  compromise,  only  fierce  contention, 
To  know  I  'm  building  eternal  Beauty 

By  freedom  more  and  more  so  to  be 
Myself  God-fashion  eternally! 

Put  foot  foremost  that  way  so. 
There  's  no  God  to  say  you  no. 

For  what  were  nobler  a  God  should  do 
Than  make  another  God  of  you? 

VII 

Higher  than  the  church,  up  he  clomb 

Sky-ward  towards  the  purple  dome 
Into  which  his  mountain-peak  jointed. 

Star-bottled,  soul-anointed — 
Upward  he  made  his  way 

Above  church  to  where  he  saw 
One  other  kind  of  temple-claw 

Up-reaching  as  if  to  snatch 
God-secrets,  lift  the  latch 

Of  Heaven — there  in  the  rock, 
Stuck  like  a  headpiece  on  a  clock. 

Was  the  Temple  of  Knowledge,  a  way  to  know 
How  sun  blows  hot  and  cold  at  me  so. 

How  a  little  gum-sweet  ether 
Makes  me  the  longer  better  breather — 

Temple  of  Knowledge — never  he  shunned  it, 
When  out  came  the  thought-lord  and  master  pundit. 

Gerald 

I  lost  a  maiden  in  this  mountain — 
What  say  if  I  tap  your  wisdom-fountain, 

You  to  tell  what  whim  inclined  her 
This  way,  or  what  way  I  may  find  her. 


28o  The  Man  Militant 

Pundit 

Higher  and  ever  higher! 
Knowledge  may  point  only,  may  not  tell 

The  whither- ward  of  this  human  spell, 
One  whimper  of  this  soul-desire, 

One  heart-beat  in  my  passing-bell! 
Yesterday  only  I  saw  her  go 

Above  us  to  where  the  night-moon  charks 
Snow-drops  into  jumping  sparks, 

The  Beauty  of  her  fair  as  a  glow 
You  must  have  seen  in  an  evening  sky 

When  clouds  have  descended  to  earth  to  die 
While  they  keep  to  their  geranium-slip, 

One  touch  of  Heaven  on  the  dying  lip — 
Up  there  I  saw  her  go 

As  if  she  sought  the  moonbeam  snow 
For  Beauty  which  was  like  her  so — 

So  say  I  your  way  is  there 
Above  earth,  where  hope  is  fair, 

Is  constant,  like  the  sky-white  air. 

VIII 

On  up  again  higher  still, 

Above  knowledge,  above  belief — 
Now  came  his  tug  of  will 

By  each  lofty  effort  to  put 
More  of  his  mountain  under  foot — 

Only  one  temple  was  there  above. 
The  over-dome  which  stands  so  fast 

For  Beauty  which  was  meant  to  last. 
All  arms,  one  Temple  of  Love, 

Highest  above  earth,  higher  than  you 
May  get  by  your  crochet-cockatoo 


The  Man  Militant 

Mouth-practice  which  keeps  you  trying 
To  mimic  so  you  forget  your  flying — 

There  was  his  mountain  high 
Leaning  against  the  sky. 

The  two  of  them  cheek  to  cheek 
As  if  they  had  one  heart  to  speak, 

When,  right  as  he  looked  to  see 
Such  whirlwind  of  sublimity 

As  twisted  the  stalks  of  snows 
Til  they  flowered  like  clover  blows 

Or  any  marvel  of  bridal-rose, 
Right  as  the  lightning  was  knitting 

Cloud  and  mountain  together 
Til  I  would  say  the  sky  was  fitting 

A  new  shape  of  orange  feather 
To  each  snow-cap,  all  in  a  rain 

Of  silver  dust,  each  pretty  grain 
To  hold  one  little  bloodstone  stain 

For  Beauty  for  crystal-fair 
Like  flocks  of  opals  in  the  air — 

Quick  as  he  looked,  there  there  came 
One  cloud,  hung  like  a  curtain  of  flame, 

Which  lifted,  while  just  underneath. 
Snow-pale,  scarce  a  wish  to  breathe, 

Was  his  loved  one — there  she  lay 
In  stillness,  as  white  snow  lies 

And  dwindles  just  before  it  dies — 
'Round  her  was  coral  orange  day. 

Such  another  day  I  never  saw, 
Pink-lighted  fire  in  lavender — 

Circles  of  strawberry  red 
Made  their  wheel-work  over  her  head — 

Such  strange  mountain  pinnacle-play 
Of  sun  and  snow-feather  took  place 


281 


282  The  Man  Militant 

As  never  ever — there  was  the  trace 
Of  Heaven  about  her  hiding  j)lace 

When  now  he  did  his  best  to  draw  near, 
Nor  could  he  at  once,  such  was  the  clear 

Strong  dazzle  of  it  where  she  lay 
Like  a  lily  in  a  sun-bath  spray 

Of  new  other  colors  and  keener  play. 
First  he  must  custom  him  to  such  sight, 

Which  blinded,  as  if  the  treacle-light 
Grew  Beauty  only  to  pinch  and  blight. 

IX 

Now  she  saw  him — how  their  eyes 
Rushed  together  torrent-wise 

Loaded  with  longing,  spirit  size, 
As  there  he  was  now  at  her  lips 

Like  a  philenor  at  a  pear-flower  sips, 
Now  in  arms  he  held  her  to  get 

Her  heart-beat,  her  hair  of  mignonette, 
Her  whole  soul,  held  her  close 

As  south  winds  wrap  a  cotton-rose — 
His,  his,  wholly  his. 

Not  a  look  of  her  to  miss, 
And  she  so  gone,  such  pallor-glow 

As  scarce  he  could  tell  her  cheek 
From  each  shriveling  lip  of  snow, 

Which  kept  curling  and  failing  to  speak- 
Scarce  more  he  held  than  the  ghost  of  her, 

Her  sweet  soul,  best  and  most  of  her 
As  faintly  she  came  to  lift  her  head 

For  words — here  is  what  she  said: 

Once,  when  a  child,  I  saw 

High  in  this  mountain  one  mighty  sign 


The  Man  Militant  283 

Of  Beauty:     In  the  mountain-spine 

Was  fastened  an  eagle's  claw; 
High  overhead  for  sure 

In  yonder  deep,  sky-pure, 
Flashed  a  jewel  like  a  Kohinur — 

Next  I  saw  the  eagle's  eye 
Catch  the  flash  like  a  mirror-spy 

Till  now  he  too  could  see 
Into  his  bold  eternity. 

Made  I  this  thought:  I  shall  go 
Yonder  towards  the  snow, 

There  where  my  clouds  are  high, 
Spotted  in  lilac  dye, 

Where  the  heavy  heavens  blow 
Their  breath  into  water-lily  snow. 
There  will  I  go. 
Follow  my  sign, 
My  clutches  in  the  mountain-spine. 

Not  alone  that  I  may  see. 
But  to  climb  to  it  so  I  come  to  be 

Part  of  all  Beauty  eternally. 

This  way  I  was  bent  that  day 

I  saw  you  just  on  the  bridge  below — 
There  you  tempted  me  to  stay, 

To  take  your  way  of  the  world  to  go — 
Your  shadow-world — remember  how 

On  the  bridge  I  told  you  so, 
How  you  could  only  see 

Shadows,  just  the  shadow  of  me 
For  not  a  wisp  of  reality? 

This  way  I  came  to  climb 

To  this  point  sublime 
Of  my  marriage  fire  and  rime. 


284  The  Man  Militant 

Gone  is  the  most  of  mc — 

How  body  has  sickened, 

EycHght  thickened 
And  you  have  only  the  ghost  of  me! — 
As  much  just  as  you  had  then 

In  the  river,  or  even  when 
You  looked  in  my  morning  eyes 

To  find  me — I  was  not  there 
For  you  to  come  to,  for  you  to  share 
In  this  one  world  by  any-wise — 

More  is  my  soul  than  you  shall  take 
In  one  life,  more  is  at  stake 

Than  you  should  have  me  for  your  sake. 

See  how  this  body  wears  away 

To  tingle  and  rest  no  more, 
Nothing  to  be  again  as  before, 

Our  pretty  play-life,  our  April  day, 
For  see  how  I  knew  you  then 

By  love  just,  only  for  love, 
Yet  soul  knew  wiser,  said  no, 

Never  that  way,  never  again 
By  lip  or  cheek  of  your  morning  glow — 

Soul  will  have  never  enough, 
For  how  it  widens  each  new  day 

While  my  poor  body  shrinks  away ! 

Here  in  this  mountain  I  saw, 

From  earth  below, 
My  Eagle  Iron  Stripes  lash  his  claw, 

His  broken  beak  against  the  snow 
Mastiff -fashion — there  the  sun 

Hurled  threats  like  a  monster  myrmidon 
And  he  caught  the  fire-ball,  never  a  sigh, 


The  Man  Militant  285 

As  there  it  lay, 

Like  a  panther  at  bay, 
Closeted  in  his  locket-eye 
For  prisoner  and  peace — 
What  Kingdomy  like  one  of  these? 

Now,  I  said,  I  will  go 

His  way,  make  my  way  so 
To  perch  among  peaks,  look  down 

On  quasi-men,  caterpillar- town 
Of  glue-thought,  tapestried  clown 

To  see  them  pick  sweets 

Out  of  honey-meats. 
Live  their  life  of  gozzan  and  gown — 

My  way  was  hard — friend. 
Hardest  is  easiest  in  the  end ; 

Hard  to  live  makes  easy  to  die 
If  you  get  the  loft  of  it  loftily. 

Here  was  a  beautiful  thing 

Higher  than  earth  I  saw — 
Sweet  as  a  mandolin  ring 

Was  a  click  of  the  eagle's  claw, 
Deep  as  a  sky  for  light 

Was  the  light  in  his  eye  I  saw, 
Vast  as  a  God  was  the  power 

Of  soul  he  was  fighting  for. 
One  tripod-grip  on  his  tower 

Of  lonely  immortal  stone. 
Heedless  he  of  his  dying  hour 

Where  he  must  die  alone. 

Sudden  I  saw  him  leap 
Straight  above  cop  and  toft 


286  The  Man  Militant 

Into  rivulets  of  wind  aloft, 
Saw  him  plunge  from  deep  to  deep 

Where  moon-stripes  tic  the  snow 
Into  fagots  of  sun -bow  glow 

To  shoot  violet  and  crimson  so 
I  lost  him — there  he  was  gone, 

Never  to  turn  to  the  world  again — 
One  was  he  with  the  orange  rain 

Of  star-sparks,  coral  grain, 
Where  Beauty  goes  on  and  on. 

Thus  far  you  followed  me  true; 
Far  as  this  top  of  snow ; 

Farther  than  this  you  may  not  go, 
For  the  way  is  not  known  to  you, 

The  way  I  go  beyond 
Higher  than  worlds  you  see, 

High  as  spirit  is  in  me — 
Once  I  was  tied  to  earth. 

Then  I  broke  my  ribbon-bond; 
How  could  it  count  the  knuckle-worth, 

Your  half-hearted  toad-foot  earth 
And  I  look  beyond  and  beyond? 

Now  you  have  come  to  see 
Out  yonder  where  I  go, 

You  '11  find  your  way  to  follow  me— 
There  's  the  world  for  you  to  outgrow, 

There  's  Power  to  be  overcome, 
There  's  more  of  you  to  be, 

More  of  man-total  sum 
Of  soul  ere  you  come  to  me 

The  way  I  go,  wholly  out  there 
In  the  crocusy  air — 


The  Man  Militant  287 

There  's  to  reach  and  to  be 
More  of  you  yet,  more  of  me. 

You  have  one  soul  to  grow, 

Body  as  well — you  make  your  showing 
Body-most,  yet  this  is  to  know; 

Body  will  reach  its  height, 
So  much  elbow,  so  little  might. 

While  soul  will  keep  on  growing — 
Ah,  but  if  you  should  not  grow 

Soul  to  a  point  of  power 
To  dog  the  eagle-flight  to  tower 

Beyond  this  pup-life  of  an  hour, 
What  is  there  else  that  shall  last 

When  the  plump  body  is  dust  and  past? 

Up  this  mountain  you  fought  your  way 

By  storm-whistle,  that  's  to  say 
You  made  havoc  against  odds, 

Against  hand-buff  of  counter- Gods 
To  where  I  am,  this  highest  peak 

Of  earth  which  a  man  may  seek, 
Yet,  now  you  look  to  see, 

You  find  only  the  shadow  of  me. 
Just  that,  nothing  more 

Than  what  you  saw  in  the  Willowquiver, 
My  artistic  mirror-river 

You  plunged  in  for  my  image  from  the  shore. 

Land  of  shadows — there  you  thought 
You  held  me  to  your  lip  and  cheek 

To  get  my  glow-touch,  hear  me  speak. 
And  all  the  sweet  while  I  was  not — 


288  The  Man  Militant 

Here  is  no  true  reality, 

Here  you  may  not  put  claim  to  me, 
Here  is  for  strife  to  come  to  be 

More  and  more  of  you  soulfully. 
That  one  day,  one  far  off  day, 

Where  the  eagle  and  night-winds  play, 
You  shall  have  greatened  to  see 

And  clasp  the  very  soul  of  me. 

All  around  I  see 
Beauty,  where  I  am  to  be 

Part  of  it — other  voices 
I  can  hear,  they  seem  to  sing 

Soft  as  the  rustle  of  a  wing, 
More  than  the  robin-heart  rejoices — 

Sun-wonder,  too,  is  there, 
But  not  a  yellow  I  ever  saw 

For  joy  in  it,  such  bosom-glare 
Of  supersolar  law 

As  puts  my  heart  to  spirit-glowing 
Beyond  all  other  human  knowing. 

Beauty  's  about  in  catseye  or  blue 

For  you  to  make  it  one  part  of  you, 
One  thing  high-minded  pure, 

So,  like  all  Beauty,  to  endure 
Above  wreckage,  for  see  how  the  suns 

Spit  fire  to  belch  like  battle-guns 
To  hurl  their  blow  of  thunder-stroke 

In  clouds  for  puffs  of  after-smoke, 
Yet  over  the  havoc-plains 

Where  world  against  world  rushes. 
Fire  eats,  chaos  crushes, 

Beauty  ever  remains  and  remains! 


The  Man  Militant  289 

This  is  for  you  to  see 
How,  as  I  come  to  be 

Shadow  and  human  Httlety, 
I  gather  other  sight  and  power, 

Moon-spaces,  rainbow  dower, 
And  there  is  evermore  more  of  me, 

Spirit  which  you  may  not  see, 
My  true  ripe  reality 

For  you  to  follow 
Through  pitfall  path,  sleepy  hollow, 

To  gather  force  and  Beauty 
By  deep  endurance,  drastic  duty — 

There  's  your  only  worth-while  booty. 

Will  you  once  think  me  severe, 

Caring  the  less  for  you,  dear, 
More  thoughtful  than  heartful? — have  not  a  fear, 

Since  we  are  bound  together 
As  the  iris  and  its  feather, 

While  there  's  always  a  way 
In  this  universe-play 

Of  Power  and  Beauty  and  Life 
To  make  sky-bows  out  of  storm  and  strife — 

One  day,  hold  to  it  sure, 
I  shall  have  you  for  higher  and  truer 

Than  the  stars  are  to  endure! 


A  BACHELOR 

My  wife! — There  's  the  thought  I  think 
As  I  front  my  fire  my  evening  way, 

Watch  the  embers  blossom  and  sink, 
Dodge  the  sparks  in  their  battle-play! 

What  would  she  seem  like  or  be 
Once  she  were  here  by  the  side  of  me? 

My  wife! — how  the  sweet  word  sings 
Just  as  a  linnet  bubbles  his  note 

And  the  empty  cloister  rings 
Like  chime  in  a  silver  throat ! — 

What  may  I  seem  like  or  be 
To  her  should  she  try  to  think  of  me? 

Her  footfall  I  thought  I  could  tell 
Each  year  I  waited,  as  if  I  heard 

The  clapping  of  a  holiday-bell 
One  morning  breeze  had  stirred 

As  I  listened,  tried  to  con. 
And,  lo,  it  was  always  lost  and  gone! 

In  at  the  cinders  I  gaze — 
Once  there  was  power  there  which  took  a  turn 

At  glittering  or  empty  blaze 
Till  nought  now  is  left  of  them  to  burn, 

Only  one  constantest  glow. 
Which  is  the  last  best  of  them  to  go, 
290 


A  Bachelor  291 

So  many  evenings  went  and  came, 
The  stars  outside  and  my  firefly-sparks 

In  my  chamber  grate  sparkle  just  the  same, 
All  only  flocks  of  dying  charks — 

Still  one  thing  the  stars  point  clear: 
She  fills  my  soul,  yet  is  nowhere  near. 

So  well  I  can  see  her  now, 
Her  way  she  would  sit  to  look  to  me 

Under  the  fine  peaceful  brow 
As  if  she  were  trying  to  see 

My  deepmost  thought  just  to  know 
If  my  love  could  fail  her  ever  or  go. 

Then  she  would  point — "Your  book  there 
Says  man  is  here  just  to  do  his  best, 

That  life  is  nothing  without  a  care, 
While  to  fight  your  way  is  blest: 

Tell  me  what  under  the  sun 
Counts  it  all  after  all  is  done!" 

To  which  I  would  say:    "Know  this  thing, 
Man  is  not  noblest  to  count  his  gain, 

Since  there  's  other  higher  reckoning 
Puts  this  one  truth  to  him  wisdom-plain : 

Better  he  go  conquering 
To  do  his  best  just  for  love  of  the  thing! 

"  Never  you  mind  for  the  end, 
For  soul  knows  how  each  heart  is  safe 

By  keeping  to  this  high  truth  for  friend, 
Nor  need  to  whimper  or  chafe: 

Who  dares  his  noblest  shall  grow 
Soul-shape — what  nobler  's  to  hope  or  know? 


292  A  Bachelor 

"  For  soul  may  not  die  since  I  see 
Change  among  worlds,  while  all  the  same 

Beauty  is  there  eternally 
By  star-balls  in  blue  and  yellow  flame — 

By  so  much  more  is  it  true 
Of  that  which  makes  for  Beauty  in  you. 

"  Is  what  I  may  see  or  touch 
My  spirit-best?     Is  the  light  I  prize 

For  foremost  or  mightily  much 
Just  this  strip  of  sun  which  kindles  eyes, 

Or  is  it  that  light  which  leaps 
From  soul  in  me  of  bodiless  deeps  ?" 

Then  she  would  draw  so  near 
I  should  hold  her  close — one  thought  would  be 

How  more  than  all  the  world  she  was  dear, 
Yet  herself  just  and  no  part  of  me — 

There  's  the  lip  and  bosom-start 
And  blue-vein-screen  to  keep  us  apart. 

Then  she  would  ask  if  I  thought 
Our  souls  do  make  for  mightier  place 

And  circumstance,  to  crumble  not, 
Some  growing  outside  of  worlds  and  space — 

Ask  of  yourself,  I  would  say, 
Ask  the  soul  in  you  at  its  wonder-play! 

Such  evenings  would  come  and  go. 
Her  talk  to  me  and  my  talk  to  her. 

Each  ember  in  turn  would  glisten  to  go. 
Only  her  heart,  by  a  little  stir. 

To  mind  us  wc  were  in  life. 
One  heart  for  me  and  my  blessing-wife. 


A  Bachelor  293 

Never  she  came  to  me  yet, 
For  here  is  this  flesh  to  hold  us  apart, 

One  stubbornest  wall  of  osselet 
Prisons  both  soul  and  heart, 

Each  such  evening  to  come  and  go 
While  I  learn  to  love  and  value  her  so, 

And  you  think  we  're  not  to  meet, 
This  heart  of  mine  and  her  climbing  hand. 

That  life  is  only  final  defeat 
And  there  is  no  fine  other  loftier  land 

But  serves  a  purpose  to  cheat 
My  spirit  out  of  its  life  complete ! 

Have  it  so,  if  that  make  good! 
Yet  we  shall  fathom  it,  you  and  I, 

Which  makes  for  most,  knuckle  or  mood — 
Who  ever  saw  a  spirit  die? 

There  now  in  such  an  undertone 
I  think  while  I  nurse  my  heart  alone 

At  my  fire  my  evening  way, 
To  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  know 

Her  rose-face  or  dimple-play 
Or  gentle  touch  before  I  must  go, 

Or  what  she  would  seem  like  or  be 
Once  she  were  here  by  the  side  of  me. 


IN  THE  OVERWORLD 

What  am  I  doing 

Not  to  be  wooing 
Now  stars  are  out  about  such  night  above, 

Moon-tracks  and  lavender  enough 
To  coax  me  till  I  love 

Such  clinging  light, 
Such  perfect  night? 

Yonder  is  the  moon 

In  a  barracoon 
Of  cloud,  like  a  pretty  face  is  veiled 

Lest  I  shall  see  the  cheek  has  paled, 
Yonder  dimpled  moon 

Which  makes  high  noon 
Of  this  night  of  June ! 

Oh,  the  stars  in  flocks, 

In  pompadour  locks , 
To  hold  me  fast  till  truly  I  am  fastened 

Where  worlds  are  melt,  fields  are  glassened, 
To  love  their  wondrous  ways. 

Their  olive  rays. 
Their  endless  days! 

How  I  hug  their  light 

Never  out  of  sight 
Save  here  among  us  in  this  pimple  earth 

Where  darkness  has  a  kind  of  worth, 
294 


In  the  Overworld  295 

While  so  I  look  to  see 
Their  look  to  me, 
Their  way  they  flee. 

What  clusters  of  suns 

Where  Hercules  runs 
To  Kinghood,  and  no  end  of  him  in  sight, 

Made  his  way  high  by  force  of  might 
As  if  to  point  me  true 

My  way  to  do 
To  rise  there  too ! 

Now  for  the  round  blue 

Of  high  heaven  in  view, 
For  worlds  in  place  like  little  spots  of  gold 

To  tempt  me  up  to  get  my  hold 
That  I  may  leap  my  way 

Above  their  clay, 
Beyond  their  day. 

As  now  I  may  see 

Where  my  Rosalie 
Keeps  to  all  place,  and  her  thought  is  wide 

As  the  stars  are  and  sky  beside. 
While  so  I  look  for  her 

Where  the  eons  stir 
Nor  pause  nor  err. 

Was  she  not  beautiful 

Of  soul  and  dutiful 
To  what  in  the  world  makes  for  fine  and  right. 

Like  as  her  stars  in  yonder  night 
Make  for  power  to  last 

By  the  light  they  cast 
Into  lightless  vast? 


296  In  the  Overworld 

Therefore  will  I  woo 

All  the  overblue, 
Moons  and  suns  and  spaces  beyond  end, 

To  have  my  love,  to  keep  my  friend, 
For  was  she  not  more  than  they 

With  their  cooling  ray 
In  their  pot  of  clay? 

Royalty  will  I  woo. 

All  the  gold  and  blue, 
Since  part  they  were  of  her  young  soul  sublime 

Which  I  shall  have  to  all  new  time, 
For  'though  the  sun  is  set, 

'Though  the  sky  be  jet, 
Yet  I  have  her  yet. 


A  JAPANESE  WAR  CLAIM 

Mother  and  son,  son  and  mother, 

Each  to  each  Hke  a  single  heart. 
Each  in  this  war-world  knew  not  another 

Love-touch  nor  friendly  art 
Where  they  lived,  where  they  loved  together 

In  a  lap  of  meadow-patch 
Under  their  canopy  of  thatch 

For  truce  to  wind  and  weather. 

Between  them,  mother  and  son, 

Such  love  was  there,  so  blended, 
We  knew  it  never  was  begun. 

Never  could  be  ended. 
Each  for  the  other  lived  to  do 

Heartful  most  that  could  be  done, 
Till  all  the  neighbor-people  grew 

To  love  the  mother  and  her  son. 

Jap  and  Cossack  were  come  to  knives — 

Look  there  now  for  one  Godlike  way 
To  settle  it,  take  your  pay 

In  blood,  teeth,  wealth  of  lives! 
Each  village  put  up  a  lick  of  smoke 

To  curl  like  an  ivy  about  the  air, 
Now  trip-hammer  and  anvil  broke 

Ploughshare  into  sword  to  spare 
297 


298  A  Japanese  War  Claim 

Not  a  life — there  's  the  noble  way 

Of  killing  to  convince: 
Is  there  doubt  about  what  he  should  pay? 

Oh,  well,  chop  him  into  mince! 
Brother  or  brother  not, 

Small' matter  so  you  deem 
Your  butcher-knife  best  to  teach  him  what 

Soul-size  is — just  a  world-power  dream ! 

Our  Mikado  must  have  men ! 

Enough  said!     There  they  come, 
Diapason  of  pipe  and  drum 

To  ring  the  old  lie  over  again 
How  the  strongest  is  he  who  can  kill, 

Gold  to  the  front,  bludgeon-skill 
For  power  to  teach  the  weak 

'T  is  wisdom  to  be  meek. 

The  son  is  called.     What  is  to  do 

But  draw  his  sword,  soul  and  might, 
Whip  a  neighbor's  nostrils  blue 

By  murder,  now  he  's  ordered  to, 
To  put  his  country  in  the  right! 

Pick  the  logic  out  of  that, 
Pick  the  little  pita-pat 

Of  soul,  what  would  starve  a  gnat! 

But  stop  1     Here  's  for  pause 

At  one  of  such  cute  Battle-laws 
Love  makes — how  eyes  dartle,  heart  jumps 

If  love  put  nations  to  their  trumps ! 
For  when  they  found  there  was  no  other 

Than  the  son  to  stay  the  widow-mother, 
"What  matter  if  it  please  or  ache  him, 

By  the  law's  law  we  may  not  take  him," 


A  Japanese  War  Claim  299 

So  handed  he  his  sword  to  his  chief, 

Then  away  home,  'twixt  joy  and  grief, 
To  tell  her  who  waited  him  there 

How  she  was  a  nation's  care 
As  well  as  his  own.     Night  was  on, 

A  red  moon  in  a  black  cloud  shone 
Now  he  told  her  he  could  not  go 

To  battle  since  the  law  was  so 

He  could  not  leave  her  and  none 

Save  him  in  her  years  to  lean  upon. 
One  deep  sigh  the  mother  drew. 

Then  thus  came  her  words  she  spoke: 
"My  son,  't  were  better  they  take  us  two 

Than  we  run  our  neck  in  the  Russian  yoke; 
There  's  the  one  way,  God's  will, 

To  settle  it — there  's  to  strike  and  kill ! 

"You  shall  go — trust  me  for  that! 

Glory  comes  out  of  a  country's  cause! 
Here  's  not  a  time  for  puling  laws, 

Gynecocracy,  Caveat! 
There  are  men  to  kill,  there  's  honor  to  save — 

What  matters  one  more  tiny  grave? 
Would  you  stop  to  think  of  death? 

Think  of  this,  life  is  a  breath 

"Of  nothing  more  than  thin  air; 

Now  here  it  is,  now  there. 
Now  I  have  it,  then  he 

Who  shall  come  after  me, 
While  soul  is  all,  is  everywhere, 

Loses  nothing,  is  not  lost. 
Stops  never  to  count  the  cost 

Of  truth  'though  life  be  tempest-tost, 


300  A  Japanese  War  Claim 

"And  truth  is  we  must  build  power 

To  kill  the  Cossack,  to  pin  his  face 
For  laughing-stock  in  our  market-place 

'Though  life  be  cut  down  in  morning  flower. 
There  's  your  one  way  to  make  Right, 

Kill  the  Cossack,  strike  so  you  kill 
For  God's  law,  by  God's  will — 

The  soul  of  the  world  is  Might." 

Such  made  her  whole  thought  indeed! 

Shall  man  do  noblier  than  his  creed? 
Believing  so  in  her  Psalm 

Of  Life  that  Death  holds  mighty  charm 
If  put  to  good  as  you  see  it, 

If  or  no  such  truly  be  it, 
Sudden  as  sudden  thought 

Which  comes  and  goes  and  scarce  is  caught 

She  whipped  a  dagger  out  of  her  belt, 

Then  deep  into  her  heart 
As  if  the  blow  had  not  been  felt — 

Scarce  a  breath  was  left  her  to  part 
With  him  she  loved,  now  she  put  the  knife 

Fast  in  his  hand,  bade  him  go. 
Now  he  was  free,  strike  the  Cossack  so, 

Blow  for  blow,  a  life  for  a  life! 


IMPROMPTU 


In  a  naked  broom-rape  field 

Free  I  wandered  one  full  day 
Of  sun-wash,  blossom-yield, 

To  nowhere,  to  have  my  way 

To  go  free,  build  castles. 
Wear  thistle-pink,  corn-tassels, 

Body-bound,  free  of  thought, 
So  was  I  master  in  my  lot 
Of  touch-me-not. 

II 

Harked  I  for  a  cat-bird  call, 

Chipmunk-leap 
And  chatter  in  a  wall ; 
Little  I  have  which  I  may  keep 

Of  what  is  crest 
If  a  svunmer  day  be  not  enough 

And  the  whole  high  sky  be  manifest 
Of  more  and  better  and  best 
Just  about  me,  just  above; 

III 

For,  thought  I,  as  I  wandered, 

Is  life  to  be  choked  or  squandered 
301 


302  Impromptu 

If  I  hold  so  much  of  thought  as  can  clasp 
A  universe  in  my  little  grasp? 
Am  I  for  fact  so  small? 
More  likely  much  that  I  am  all, 

While  what  I  see  around, 
Star-fields  or  pretty  pebble-ground 
Only  in  my  soul  are  found! 

IV 

More  of  me  there  was 

That  fine  Tuesday  than  I  could  tell, 
Lapwing  fancy  which  knits  and  gnaws 

Beyond  my  day-in-day-out  spell 
Of  chipmunk  or  cockerel, 

Power  of  heart  to  clutch 
More  than  life  offers  overmuch — 

So  was  I  musing 
To  wonder  what  a  game  for  losing 


Life  is — when,  just  in  the  breach 

Beyond  me,  well  out  of  my  reach, 
But  my  way  coming,  was  such  a  lass, 

Ivy  about  her  neck  and  arm. 
Cheek  like  an  apple-garden  has. 

Sundew  crowded  into  each  palm 
She  held  up  as  if  to  commend 

The  flower  to  a  wren,  beg  him  descend 
To  perch  there  to  be  her  friend. 

VI 

You  've  seen  a  pink  rose  swing 
In  sun- vine  till  you  thought 


Impromptu  303 

The  wild  beautiful  thing 
Danced  and  dangled  to  be  caught, 

To  be  coddled  and  stroked  and  kissed 
So  not  a  lip  of  it  should  be  missed — 

Well,  there  she  was  and  close, 
All  the  pink  dance  of  one  of  those, 

And  what  else  other  than  such  a  rose? 

VII 

What  was  for  me  to  do? 

Will  you  stop  to  reason  what 
Makes  wisdom,  cook  up  cold  thought 

To  cipher  at  why,  why  not, 
Now  Heaven  drops  Heaven  to  you? 

Coming  my  way  was  she, 
That  near  now  for  me  to  see 

What  soul  nested  in  each  eye 
Of  sweet  Heaven,  all  the  same  blue  dye, 

VIII 

As  if  once  to  let  me  know 

Beauty  was  there  like  sky,  the  such 
As  lay  beyond  my  thought  or  touch — 

What  now? — should  I  let  her  go. 
Never  to  see  her  more  by  chance 

In  this  world  of  losing  circumstance? — 
Or  stop  to  think? — who  may  think 

When  love  is  there  at  a  wink, 
While  thought  is  tied  in  the  iron  link? 

IX 

Only  the  one  narrow  path  was  there 

From  which  I  stepped  to  let  her  pass 


304  Impromptu 

Like  a  loaded  blossom  in  the  grass 

So  uncomputcd  fair, 
When — now  every  thought  put  under 

Save  love,  which  never  made  a  blunder, 
Quicker  than  I  could  count  her  charms 

I  had  her  cheeks  in  these  palms, 
Her  heart  in  my  arms, 


Those  two  lips,  not  meant  to  miss. 

Protesting,  but  sure  of  this 
Wonderful  stolen  kiss  after  kiss — 

And  then,  only  after  then, 
Now  she  was  put  free  again, 

Could  I  see  each  pale  cheek 
Mantle  red  like  an  evening  cloud 

The  sun  has  touched  and  left,  try  to  speak 
Their  language,  so  silent-loud! 

XI 

I  thought  of  what  I  gained  or  missed: 

One  girl  more  had  been  loved  and  kissed 

Whether  she  would  or  no; 

Was  I  more  man  for  it,  a  bee-bob  more 
Than  ever  before. 

Now  she  turned  and  I  could  see 

Her  pity-like  look  to  me 

As  if  to  say:     "You  are  small, 
You  see  skin-deep,  that  is  all, 

XII 

"Most  as  any  fly  might  light 
On  the  bosom  of  a  brook 


Impromptu  305 

For  just  his  one  tiny  bite 

Of  dew,  never  a  look 
Into  the  mirror  in  his  brook 

Where  giant  skies  and  moon- worlds  nook. — 
Keep  to  it,  have  your  way 

Of  potter  to  putter  in  the  clay 
Your  little  day, 

XIII 

"But  know,  my  friend,  Beauty  is  what 

Beauty  makes  it  to  a  dot ; 
Put  touch  to  a  rose  to  jar 

A  leaf  of  it,  you  leave  your  scar; 
Who  save  the  fool  would  claw 

The  heart  out  of  what  he  hungers  for? 
Keep  to  crocodile  or  bat 

If  such  be  the  thing  you  level  at! 
I  thought  the  God  in  you  more  than  that." 


DEVERSORIUM    VIATORIS    HIEROSOLYMAM    PRO- 

FICISCENTISi 

Here  I  lay  me  to-night — 
See,  how  dark  the  hour  is, 
This  tomb,  where  not  a  flower  is 
Nor  rood  in  sight 
To  point  a  path'out,  so  long  the  way  is 
To  where  I  look  and  only  day  is, 

And  I  must  say  good-night. 

Here  will  I  fall  asleep 
To  put  my  burden  down 
Which  prompted  no  pout  nor  frown 
That  I  wotdd  keep. 
Since  one  night  only  hails  me  at  an  inn 
I  'm  glad  of  to  find  such  shelter  in, 
Now  I  must  look  to  sleep. 

I  put  my  trinkets  here. 
The  what  I  did  or  knew 
For  best,  what  I  thought  good  to  do 
By  gloom,  by  cheer. 
For  knowing  I  will  need  them  one  new  day 
Of  a  finer  light,  of  a  wider  way, 
And  so  I  put  them  here. 

•  The  inn  of  a  traveller  on  his  way  to  Jerusalem. — From  an  English 
Tomb. 

306 


Deversorium  Viatoris  307 

Soul  comes  and  goes,  my  friend; 
You  see  it  last  and  first ; 
Not  a  God's  newt  can  be  curst 
And  there  an  end 
Of  endless  Power,  and  the  no-ending  whole 
Put  plainest  deep  in  your  very  soul 
Not  to  misapprehend. 

This  hand  will  wither  so 
As  you  see  in  your  sun 
Now  its  worst  first  work  is  done 
And  best,  although 
Think  you  I  shall  get  me  no  finer  hand 
Than  this  which  is  baked  of  sun  and  sand 
Now  that  I  sleep  to  grow? 

Slowly,  then,  bell  and  bell, 
Seeing  I  seek  release 
From  foment  to  make  my  ease; 
One  evening  knell 
Before  I  nod,  now  death  hath  struck  the  hour 
That  I  am  to  grasp  for  more  of  Power 
Which  doeth  all  things  well. 

There,  so,  make  low  the  light 
To  gather  me  to  bed. 
Now  all  has  been  done  and  said 
Of  wrong  or  right 
Which  was  my  best — I  'm  sure  it  was  my  best — 
So  leave  me  here  for  a  little  rest, 

Since  I  must  say  good-night. 


HER  DUKE 

Such  a  sky-boon  was  this  day 
In  the  last  of  May, 
Cinderella  birds  just  about 
At  their  C5nTibal-shout, 
Little  sunburnt  flowers  at  their  feat 
To  be  like  you,  skyful  and  sweet — 
Bob-lights  played  in  the  leaves 
Which  kicked  the  sun  off  like  copper  greaves- 
Leveret  and  pianet 
I  could  not  forget — 
Such  a  noble  day  it  was 
For  a  noble  cause ! 

You  had  your  two  sides  to  you 
Like  the  rest  of  us; 
One  was  weak,  the  other  grew 
So  the  best  of  us 
Could  not  in  one  life  struggle  to 
One  half  the  spirit  size  of  you. 
Remember  how  you  would  tell  me  all 
You  did  or  thought,  mighty  or  small. 
How  you  thought  your  way  was  best, 
Yet  would  look  to  me 
308 


Her  Duke  309 

To  put  you  to  the  test? 
Let  us  look  to  see: 

You  were  fine  as  a' leaf  of  spring, 

As  the  April  ring 

Of  little  pellets  of  rain 

At  your  window-pane; 

You  were  beautiful,  such  kind  of  grace 

Summer  puts  in  evening  skies; 

Sun-pink  played  in  your  face, 

Soul  was  ripe  in  your  eyes 

With  their  pond-look  of  iris  dyes — 

That  day,  that  perfect  day. 

Came  my  turn  to  say 

You  were  beautiful  as  none 

All  under  the  sun ! 

Now  he  was  your  pewter  Duke, 

Had  his  helmet-look, 

This  man  was  you  thought  of  so 

For  his  nickel  glow. 

His  chin-shine  and  family  stock, 

His  new  gold  harness,  feathers  for  pufT, 

Just  the  plain  man  in  him  not  enough 

To  hold  you  under  key  and  lock. 

And  so  he  dangled  for  show. 

Played  the  glow-worm  so 

You  should  unspirit  and  crawl 

To  his  pomp  and  call. 

I  only  loved  you  the  way, 
That  fine  day  of  May, 
Rocket  flowers  reach  for  their  sun 
Since  the  world  begun; 


3IO  Her  Duke 

Loved  you,  yet  took  not  one  thought 
How  you  were  to  be  snared  and  got, 
Made  my  way  to  you  as  the  wren 
Makes  his  way  to  his  sky  again, 
And  nothing  to  ask  of  you 
But  you  love  me  too 
For  my  sake,  not  for  my  troops 
Of  buttons  and  loops. 

But  he  was  your  Duke  I  saw 
You  were  aiming  for; 
Kept  his  kick  and  bubble-front 
To  which  he  was  wont; 
Took  you  by  storm  by  his  way 
Of  trick-master  for  tall  display, 
The  while  you  so  overlooked  me 
I  forgot  I  was  meant  to  be! 
You  liked  his  helmet  and  sword. 
Drank  each  look  and  word — 
I  saw  you  flutter  to  quob 
Like  a  muffled  squab. 

But  how  much  love  did  you  have 

For  his  star  or  staff. 

Or  how  much  heart  could  you  show 

For  his  lemon  bow? 

Never  you  housed  a  knuckle  of  care 

Save  for  the  pomp-look  which  was  there 

In  his  crocodile  eyes,  peacock  blue. 

To  handicap  the  heart  in  you ! 

Now  that  you  had  him  to  hold 

By  his  hand  of  gold. 

What  could  it  matter  the  dot 

If  you  loved  him  or  not? 


Her  Duke  311 

Next  came,  as  I  said,  one  day 

In  the  month  of  May, 

Full  of  quince  blossom  and  stock 

For  you  to  unlock — 

You  were  up  about  fields  to  see 

What  in  the  world  was  come  to  me 

Who  had  not  seen  you  for  many  days, 

Had  left  you  to  your  Duke  and  his  praise. 

Which  seemed  to  be  all  enough 

Without  my  love. 

While  so  I  thought  I  must  do 

My  best  without  you, 

When — that  clean  May  morning  we  stood 

By  your  crab-apple  wood 

You  wore  one  look  I  could  read, 

Had  a  heart  in  need. 

Yet  you  woiild  not  own  to  it,  but  told 

Of  your  Duke  and  his  gold. 

Of  his  place  in  the  world  for  power 

To  make  men  snivel  and  cower — 

Your  Duke  and  his  power  and  all, 

While  I  was  too  small 

To  fill  the  dream  in  your  thought, 

Cast  in  with  your  lot. 

So  I  could  see  you  thought  his  power, 

His  splurge  of  an  hour, 

Were  more  than  all  I  could  be 

By  the  soul  in  me; 

More  than  my  kingdom  of  heart 

Were  the  tricks  of  his  art, 

Quite  as  all  light-winded  mothing 

Makes  much  out  of  nothing — 


312  Her  Duke 

So  I  was  to  drop  behind 
In  your  soul  and  mind, 
Follow  on  at  the  fag  end, 
Play  brotherly  friend ! 

How  comes  it  men  think  of  this 

For  the  best  there  is: 

Power  and  wealth  and  brain  and  art, 

So  little  of  heart, 

As  if  the  world  held  more,  as  a  whole, 

Than  this  sun-above  masterful  soul, 

Or  could  give  a  man  half  what  he  wants 

In  these  pigeon-hole  haunts. 

While  so,  as  life  leaps  agog, 

Play  groundling  and  hog. 

Drink  of  mere  smother  of  smut, 

Make  much  of  a  gut? 

Well — that  clean  morning  of  May, 

As  I  tried  to  say, 

Both  of  us  thought  as  we  stood 

By  your  crab-apple  wood — 

I  only  thought  of  my  honest  love 

For  you,  that  for  me  was  enough. 

While  you  made  effort  to  soar  above 

Heart  and  soul  and  the  reign  of  love 

When  I  turned,  as  this  much  I  said: 

"Since  your  love  is  dead, 
There  's  only  my  sigh  to  tell 
My  hardest  word  of  all — Farewell! 
So  I  leave  you  to  your  Duke 
With  his  helmet-look! 


Her  Duke  313 

I  take  to  my  way  of  life, 

Nor  thought  of  a  wife, 

Only  your  image  I  have  to  keep 

"Till  I  come  to  where  I  mean  to  sleep — 

What  if  things  are  not  what  they  seem, 

Then  is  this  life  only  a  dream 

And  I  sleep,  always  I  sleep, 

By  which  way  I  keep 

To  what  things  only  seem. 

And  always  I  dream!" 

But  what  was  told  in  your  eyes 

By  their  strong  surprise? 

How  now  did  you  try  to  speak 

And  the  lip  was  weak ! 

Your  two  cheeks  were  knitted  to  quilt 

White  spots,  as  if  blood  had  been  spilt — 

I  saw  the  knife  was  up  to  the  hilt! 

I  did  not  seem  to  you  then  so  small 

Once  you  could  see  how  the  heart  is  all, 

My  heart  which  you  took. 

And  never  one  thought  nor  look 

To  your  stupid  Duke! 

Pleasant  days,  dear,  after  all, 

As  I  now  recall. 

Days  for  learning  what  is  best, 

Souls  put  to  the  test 

To  see,  by  all  which  has  gone  before. 

Soul  is  meant  to  be  vastways  more 

To  such  Beauty  and  no  end 

As  you  nor  I  may  try  to  portend, 


314  Her  Duke 

And  so  I  like  to  recall, 
In  the  midst  of  it  all, 
Those  pleasant  days  as  I  look 
Back  to  you  and  your  Duke! 


HALO  SKIMP 


Let  us  have  a  look  at  Skimp 
From  a  point  of  view 
Of  his  halt,  of  his  limp, 
Of  his  bugaboo. 
His  three  faces:  Priest-apostle  look, 

Warmth  enough  in  it  just  to  cook 
Authority  of  the  pot-hook  look ; 

His  pew-face,  long  and  narrow, 
About  the  broadhead  of  a  sparrow, 

Save  what  he  lacks  in  chin 
Is  made  up  to  him  in  bull-wolf  mouth 

To  take  a  whole  harvest  in, 
Yield  you  a  season  of  drouth; 

His  every-day  face  of  fashion 
Full  of  the  Skimp  family  passion 

To  narrow  things  to  so  and  so — 
Above  and  beyond  you  must  not  go 

Or  God  might  envy  you  what  you  know- 
Glue-ball,  the  people  would  say, 

To  watch  him  strut  across  the  way 
So  rapt  in  such  ego-swim 

Men  thought  the  stars  might  stick  to  him- 
There  at  a  gnat-hole  he  would  pick 

To  fetch  truth  a  left-handed  lick 
Under  such  wide  sombrero-brim 

As  kept  the  sky-width  away  from  him. 
315 


3i6  Halo  Skimp 

Most  anything  he  managed  to  do 

To  smallen  him,  to  smallen  you 
To  his  one  narrow  nose-end  view. 

II 

Truth  is  written  in  a  book, 

You  must  take  the  thing  for  such, 

Not  a  wink  at  it  to  look 

If  an  ephod  argue  much, 

Or  a  priest  and  his  bugbear-touch — 

Truth  is  all  a  little  thing 

Measured  by  a  little  skull, 

Man  is  meant  to  beg  and  cling, 

Keep  his  wits  about  him  dull, 

Meant  for  priests  to  kick  and  gull — 

God  is  in  his  lightning-sky. 

Thunderbolts  to  smash  a  race. 

You  for  pin- worm,  he  for  high, 

For  spider  in  his  hiding-place 

To  bite  men  out  of  time  and  space — 

God  is  mighty  to  be  pleased. 

Has  a  way  of  sucking  blood. 

Perfect  Power  must  be  appeased 

By  tears  of  human  widowhood. 

There 's  the  top  notch  of  all  good — 

Truth  is  all  a  little  thing, 

Here  the  preface,  here  the  end 

Of  any  other  reasoning 

Than  man  is  meant  to  quob  and  bend 

To  Power  so  to  not  offend — 

Nothing  lies  beyond  to  know, 

I  must  fetch  my  altar-bow. 

Take  their  way  to  come  and  go, 

And  Skimp  shall  show  me  how! 


Halo  Skimp  317 

m 

Halo  Skimp ! — think  the  while  how 

Halo  for  glory  rounded  his  brow! 
You  would  be  looking  for  lustre 

Of  an  infinite  star-cluster 
'Round  such  dog-thought — no  blunder 

Is  this  whimpering  to  crouch  under — 
No  blunder  is  this  pig-ankle  plan 

That  nothing  comes  of  being  man, 
Since  Skimp  has  another  trick  up  sleeve: 

You  must  knock  under,  must  believe 
Just  the  thing  Skimp  has  up  sleeve 

To  get  your  footing  without  a  limp, 
Get  the  whole  benefit  of  Skimp. 

Could  you  doubt  of  his  length  of  view, 
His  power  to  see  what  is  truly  true 

Now  he  looks  back  a  thousand  years 
To  get  his  croppie  full  of  fears? 

There  now  came  his  hook-hawk  eye 
Seeing  straight-wise  what  he  saw, 

His  Heaven  for  him  to  be  gulping  for 
With  the  mouth-parts  of  a  dragon-fly. 

Skimp  knew — man  is  to  be  so  much, 
More  than  this  is  out  of  clutch 

And  Skimp  could  show  you  the  outer  touch. 
Once  I  heard  him  lesson  a  boy 

How  the  Devil  is  forward,  how  God  is  coy, 
While  first  above  all  things  first 

He  shall  practise  hunger  and  thirst, 
Cultivate  general  deprivation, 

Since  God  is  open  to  negotiation. 
His  high  Heaven  to  be  bought 

By  flatulence  and  pauper-thought. 


3i8  Halo  Skimp 

IV 

Skimp — now,  Skimp,  I  heard  you  pray 

Like  a  Ute  Indian  one  day 
For  good  and  greatness  to  come  your  way — 

Did  there  not  once  come  to  you 
How  goodness  and  greatness  are  what  you  do, 

How  you  are  not  to  be  stuffed,  hog-bellied, 
Each  desire  to  be  sugar  jellied. 

But  just  your  fist  first  to  strike  to  do 
So  God  might  get  somewhat  out  of  you? 

But,  Skimp — I  heard  you  shouting  praise 
That  day,  heard  your  windy  ways 

At  pipery,  your  noisy  phase — 
Then  I  looked  for  the  other  part, 

Love  in  it — there  went  no  heart 
In  your  mouth-practice  or  keyboard  art. 

Nobler  than  worship  love  is  and  finer. 
More  human  and  vastly  diviner. 

Beside,  here's  an  odd  thing,  Skimp: 
I  'm  no  kind  of  mocking  imp 

To  take  your  shape,  follow  your  gong. 
Dip  and  mumble  with  the  throng. 

For  there  's  the  unique  God  in  me 
I  'm  to  come  to,  grow  to  be. 

Never  breath  of  subserviency. 
None  of  yoiir  altar-tricks,  not  a  nod 

To  put  me  leaning  upon  God, 
For  how  may  I  lean  and  stand  straight, 

Part  ways  small,  part  ways  great? — 
I  for  one  masterpiece  of  thought 

That  what  I  do  shall  be  noblest  wrought 
Of  the  best  of  me,  of  the  most  of  me. 

Of  the  wholly  holy  ghost  of  me 


Halo  Skimp  3^9 

For  virtue,  kindliness,  endurance-power 

To  stand  man-foremost  up  to  the  hour 
That  strikes  for  me — noblest  behavior, 

Man  his  own  God  and  only  Savior 
By  being  the  God-most  man. 

All  the  best  of  him  he  can 
For  love  of  it  to  stand  manful-straight 

For  greatness  in  him  to  stay  great 
As  a  God  could  stay  in  one  narrow  sphere, 

Never  an  atomful  of  fear 
For  homage — just  human  love 

Is  complete  worship  and  homage  enough, 
Never  a  thumb-twitch  or  nod. 

Each  man  one  giantest  gentlest  God. 
In  the  afterward  or  here 

What  has  the  man  to  fear, 
Be  the  heart  of  him  true  and  kind, 

He  his  best  to  be  striving  at 
In  spite  of  his  world  he  leaves  behind? — 

What  may  a  God  do  more  than  that? 


322  Old  Darby 


Held  it  to  his  lips,  held  his  two  eyes 
So  fastened  on  the  zenith  skies 

As  an  eagle  looks  before  he  flies, 
I  would  not  have  wondered  to  see  him  rise. 

Old  Darby — yet  not  old, 
Fifty,  may  be,  and  yet 
His  face  had  many  a  fold, 
There  were  the  chink  and  fret 
And  no  power  to  forget 
What  had  grooved  them  so, 
Each  heavy  chisel-blow. 
He  bent  by  such  weight 
Of  his  loaded  fate 
He  looked  and  men  thought, 
Whether  he  was  or  not, 
He  must  be  heavy  fraught 
With  years,  and  so  'twas  told 
He  was  passing  old. 

Prime  abject  wonder  was  it  to  see 

His  love  he  kept  for  the  locket-face 
He  carried  in  such  captivity 

None  ever  knew  how  his  soul  was  a  place 
For  just  the  one  sweet  woman-face 

He  would  kiss  so,  looking  to  the  skies, 
Looking  straight  into  endless  deeps 

To  see  how  Beauty  never  dies 
Where  each  world  noddles  and  blinks  and  sleeps, 

As  if  for  certain  surpassing  fair 
He  must  find  her  another  day  out  there ! 

Now  I  must  tell  you  this, 
To  make  the  matter  plain 


Old  Darby  323 

About  the  girl  and  kiss, 
About  the  locket-chain, 
Which  mystery  was  his 
He  kept  so  most  men  thought 
He  must  be  mad  or  wild — 
Whether  pleased  or  not, 
He  neither  scowled  nor  smiled. 
Kept  his  calm  same  way 
From  moon  to  moon — at  last 
This  truth  leaked  out  one  day 
To  put  the  world  aghast: 

Darby  and  Duke  were  two  brothers  called — 

Duke,  the  older  and  world  of  a  boy. 
By  birth  came  somehow  pinched  and  smalled 

In  soul,  compounded  cheap  alloy. 
Was  his  father's  image  and  toy. 

His  pet  luckling  straightway  from  birth. 
His  son  and  heir  and  struggle-worth 

To  take  both  family  fortune  and  name, 
Natured  to  take  whatever  came 

His  way,  so  wholly  the  father  like, 
Gulp  and  gullet  of  a  pike 

For  himself  just  and  no  other, 
He  the  one  headlong  grasping  brother. 

Darby  was  of  the  other  mould. 
Never  was  in  him  greed  of  gold 

Nor  any  greed;  always  he  chewed 
Thought  to  see  what  mortal  good 

In  the  world  he  could  be  to  do 
Anything  for  me  or  you. 

Any  goodness  he  could  do. 
So  little  to  himself  it  mattered 

If  fortune  flooded  or  only  spattered. 


324  Old  Darby 

Had  he  taken  to  the  dollar- plan 

Of  more  dollars  to  make  more  man, 
The  father  had  counted  him  worthy 

To  be  his  son,  rich  and  earthy. 
But  no,  he  was  higher  spirit-mood, 

Not  thinking  of  himself  for  gain, 
But  only  to  do  what  best  he  could. 

While  so  his  way  in  the  world  was  plain: 

To  be  kind  and  true 
As  a  day  is  long. 
All  a  will  to  do. 
All  a  foe  to  wrong. 
Love  of  truth  and  power 
To  be  free  and  great 
As  an  arum-flower 
In  the  perfect  state, 
As  an  April  shower 
With  its  diamond  trait, 
Not  to  mind  of  death 
Or  the  way  you  drop, 
Never  soul  nor  breath 
Taking  flight  to  stop 
On  the  wing  to  do — 
There  's  the  God  in  you ! 

In  youth  the  two  brothers  at  one  time 

Fell  to  loving  the  one  girl 
Of  an  eye  of  supra-mortal  pearl, 

Voice  of  such  holiday  chime, 
One  pure  girl  of  such  sun-wide  hope 

Shadows  died  in  her  horoscope, 
Thought-happy,  and  so  much  was  of  her 

There  was  only  to  wholly  love  her, 


Old  Darby  325 

As  Darby  did,  likewise  did  Duke; 

Each  one  his  proper  Monday  took 
To  himself,  so  each  one  never  knew 

The  other  brother  loved  her  too, 
Till  one  day  it  happened,  who  knows  how, 

Each  pledged  her  his  solemn  love  and  vow, 
While  there  her  eyes  were  opened  to  choose, 

One  brother  to  take,  the  other  to  lose! 

Said  Darby  to  Duke: 
You  see  how  it  is. 
Now  you  stop  to  look! 
I  was  born  to  miss 
My  portion  in  life, 
I  was  put  to  the  strife, 
I  was  sent  to  the  front 
To  take  butt  and  brunt. 
And  the  way  is  long — 
My  luck  I  am  strong 
Just  to  step  aside — 
You  take  her  for  bride, 
I  leave  her  to  you, 
There  's  my  best  I  can  do! 

Duke  took  her,  you  be  sure  of  that. 

Took  his  father's  fortune,  all  there  was 
Was  left  him  to  gnaw  and  grovel  at. 

Nor  took  he  another  human  cause 
Than  just  himself  to  be  living  for 

For  what  he  could  get,  for  all  there  was. 
Never  the  thought  of  any  other, 

Nor  heed  of  the  stript  and  generous  brother, 
As  on  he  went  to  get  this  world's  most, 

Nor  counted  it  what  the  other  lost. 


326  Old  Darby 


Darby,  per  contra,  took  nobler  view 

Of  what  is  fine  in  the  soul  to  do 
So  he  should  get  the  finest  he  was, 

Get  above  skunk  and  cat-lick  laws 
To  nobler  and  highmost  man. 

Over  and  above  any  worldsome  plan, 
So  gave  the  girl  to  his  brother  Duke, 

Thought  nothing  of  it  only  to  do 
His  kindest  and  noblest  way  he  knew. 

The  one  way  ever  he  saw  and  took. 
That  way  Duke  came  to  get  his  prize 

Of  gold  and  such  immortal  eyes 
And  soul  of  a  girl  as  never  I  saw 

So  worth  a  man's  living  and  dying  for. 
Duke  took  her,  left  Darby  to  go 

His  way,  his  land-long  way  alone, 
Nor  gave  him  one  thought  now  he  was  gone. 

The  sting  in  him  like  an  arrow 
Levelled  in  the  heart  and  marrow 

He  carried  there,  nor  knew  ever  how 
She  half  way  loved  him,  thought  of  him  so 

Now  she  saw  him  turn  to  go 
To  leave  her  to  his  brother  Duke, 

Saw  the  kind  face,  longing  look 
He  gave  her  that  day  he  went. 

As  light  drops  out  of  a  firmament. 

One  hard  way  to  go, 
One  hard  thing  to  do, 
Never  a  way  to  know 
Of  the  cost  to  you 
And  you  carry  through 
What  you  mean  to  do 
For  the  good  in  you, 


Old  Darby  327 

For  the  good  in  view, 
Nor  a  gain  to  gain 
Nor  a  hope  to  hope 
But  the  plain  way  plain 
For  such  noble  scope 
As  is  strong  and  true — 
There  's  the  God  in  you! 

How  things  went  with  Duke  let  us  see: 

Just  the  same  Duke  he  was,  never  so 
Men  saw  in  him  any  human  glow 

Or  little  spot  of  divinity, 
But  Duke  just,  wholly  hog-eyed  Duke, 

The  inward,  never  the  outward  look 
About  him  in  the  world  for  others. 

His  many  heavy-hearted  brothers 
To  give  a  hand  to  if  he  could 

Be  of  some  little  human  good. 
His  noble  pearl-girl  too,  she  could  see 

Now  so  plain  how  her  man-mate  was 
All  self -sided  as  savagery, 

Saw  him  for  mostly  brawn,  or  jaws 
To  swallow,  to  give  nothing  out. 

So  she  grew  to  nursing  her  doubt 
Of  her  love  of  him — Darby  was  now 

In  her  thought  with  his  heartfullest  vow; 
She  coiild  see  him,  'though  she  never  knew 

Which  way  in  all  the  world  he  flew 
When  he  left  her  to  his  brother  to  take — 

What  love  will  do  for  its  own  fine  sake! 
Fairly  at  last  she  grew  to  love  him. 

The  whole  world  held  nought  above  him. 
Poor  Darby,  and  he  gone  forever 

— She  knew  time  takes  back  step  never — 


328  Old  Darby 

Whatever  came  of  him  none  ever  knew, 

What  lot  fell  to  him  none  ever  cared; 
He  may  have  flown  where  the  eagles  flew 

To  tie  to  their  scaur,  fare  as  they  fared, 
While  who  in  the  green  world  sniffed  or  cared 

Save  her  who  knew  his  widest  heart. 
Monument  greatness,  his  majesty  part 

He  played,  while  men  went  thinking  him  odd. 
And  he  a  whole  Prince  and  part  of  God! 

What  have  you  to  fear 
In  the  God-wide  world 
If  love  drop  a  tear 
So  the  cheek  be  pearled — 
If  the  dark  spread  wing 
In  that  heart  of  thine 
So  the  night-larks  sing, 
So  the  planets  shine — 
If  the  way  be  rough 
In  your  meadow-spread, 
So  you  live  by  love 
Of  the  heights  ahead 
For  the  good  in  view, 
For  the  God  in  you? 

So  it  was  in  Chelmsford  I  found  him. 

At  the  fag-end,  in  his  squirrel-hut ! 
How  each  tempest  tried  to  unground  him! 

I  saw  his  wide  eyes  open  and  shut 
As  if  the  soul  in  him  watched  each  gape 

To  leap  there  for  chance  to  escape. 
Much  was  to  think  of  him,  nothing  to  know 

As  he  would  sit  in  the  evening  glow, 
Each  bird  about  him  leaping  to  share 


Old  Darby  329 

His  lap,  a  crumb  of  his  evening  fare 
In  the  sweet  kind  quiet  there  was  there. 

Each  day  he  took  to  this  way  or  that  way, 
Now  to  watch  a  yellow  chat  play 

Pasans  to  him — I  thought  that  morning 
The  very  soul  of  song  was  dawning — 

Then  to  his  task  in  Pawtucket  Street, 
To  do  and  to  do,  and  a  world  in  need 

Of  each  man,  to  his  head  and  feet — 
I  could  see  him  at  a  garden  weed 

To  help  a  melon  grow,  take  his  turn 
To  watch  a  bee  in  a  clover  churn, 

To  show  a  child  the  God  of  him 
Leaped  in  every  breath  and  limb 

To  soar  above  the  sod  of  him, 
Spoke  kindness  always  and  great  truth: 

"Only  soul  has  perpetual  youth; 
The  child  is  likelier  God 

Than  your  small  soul  in  your  lordly  pod," 
And  so  on,  as  each  way  he  went 

He  preached  of  power  by  strugglement ; 
Beauty  was  the  thing  to  catch, 

New  always,  not  made  to  match ; 
Soul-foremost  was  the  way  to  go, 

Would  the  world  co\ild  see  it  so, 
And  so  on. 

Such  a  true  high  man 
I  watched  him  his  way 
The  organ-birds  play 
Where  his  flower-fields  ran, 
And  he  there  to  do 
W^hat  is  lasting  true, 
What  is  kindly  great 


330  Old  Darby 

As  all  sky  holds  blue 
Over  dark  and  hate, 
Just  to  do  his  most 
In  the  world  he  could, 
Nor  a  thing  to  boast 
Only  trueman  mood, 
Only  human  good! 


Duke  died.     Never  he  rose  above 

His  self-highway  of  self-love. 
So  little  truly  there  was  of  him 

The  wife  came  lastly  to  unlove  him. — 
Death  took  him — oft  I  wonder  if 

Men  die  for  not  soul  enough  to  live — 
She  now  alone  in  the  world  to  think 

How  life  is  barely  the  puff  and  wink, 
Yet  long  enough  to  so  certainly  do 

All  which  may  lie  in  the  soul  in  you 
To  get  greatness  and  the  grandeur-view. 

Darby  she  loved,  always  she  knew 
She  loved  him,  yet  away  he  was  gone 

And  none  could  tell  in  the  world  whereto, 
Yet  to  think  of  him  wholly  alone 

And  none  to  smooth  out  his  brow  betimes, 
Drop  bell- words  to  him  for  evening  chimes, 

Was  more  than  all  her  heart  could  endure — 
She  must  follow  to  see,  to  be  sure 

If  he  were  anywhere  above  ground — 
Had  he  not  been  most  faithful  found 

His  hard  long  way  in  the  world  he  went? 
This  she  knew  by  the  goodness  he  meant, 

There  he  gave  her  up,  never  a  quaver, 
So  the  lesser  brother  should  have  her. 


Old  Darby  331 

So  this  then  should  be  her  forward-strife, 
Her  masterstroke  and  work  of  her  life, 

To  find  him — God  only  knows  how 
Years  went  by  and  she  kept  her  vow. 

Tired  heart  and  brain, 
Take  a  thought  of  this, 
June  will  come  again, 
Life  one  purpose  is 
And  the  meaning  plain, 
You  to  strike  to  do 
For  the  June- Domain 
Of  the  God  in  you, 
Power  to  go  your  way. 
Power  to  be  your  best. 
Give  the  thought  free  play, 
Put  you  to  the  test 
To  be  bold  and  true — 
There  's  the  God  in  you ! 

On  she  wandered  her  way  up  and  down 

Of  every  highway  of  every  town. 
Found  the  nozzle  of  each  by-way, 

Found  the  V-fork  in  each  Y-way, 
Took  to  meadow-stretch,  to  low  beaches 

Where  the  pursuing  ocean  reaches 
As  if  ever  putting  out  a  hand 

To  cling  to  the  lofty  lover-land. 
High-hearted  grew  she,  never  ruing. 

Losing  each  day,  each  day  pursuing, 
While  what  of  her  loss  was  worth  the  thought? — 

Should  she  not  do  her  mightiest 
To  put  her  to  the  touch  and  test 

Whether  she  won  at  it  or  not? 


33^  Old  Darby 

As  all  sky  holds  blue 
Over  dark  and  hate, 
Just  to  do  his  most 
In  the  world  he  could, 
Nor  a  thing  to  boast 
Only  trueman  mood, 
Only  human  good! 


Duke  died.     Never  he  rose  above 

His  self-highway  of  self-love. 
So  little  truly  there  was  of  him 

The  wife  came  lastly  to  unlove  him. — 
Death  took  him — oft  I  wonder  if 

Men  die  for  not  soul  enough  to  live — 
She  now  alone  in  the  world  to  think 

How  life  is  barely  the  puff  and  wink, 
Yet  long  enough  to  so  certainly  do 

All  which  may  lie  in  the  soul  in  you 
To  get  greatness  and  the  grandeur-view. 

Darby  she  loved,  always  she  knew 
She  loved  him,  yet  away  he  was  gone 

And  none  could  tell  in  the  world  whereto, 
Yet  to  think  of  him  wholly  alone 

And  none  to  smooth  out  his  brow  betimes. 
Drop  bell-words  to  him  for  evening  chimes, 

Was  more  than  all  her  heart  could  endure — 
She  must  follow  to  see,  to  be  sure 

If  he  were  anywhere  above  ground — 
Had  he  not  been  most  faithful  found 

His  hard  long  way  in  the  world  he  went? 
This  she  knew  by  the  goodness  he  meant. 

There  he  gave  her  up,  never  a  quaver. 
So  the  lesser  brother  should  have  her. 


Old  Darby  331 

So  this  then  should  be  her  forward-strife, 
Her  masterstroke  and  work  of  her  Hfe, 

To  find  him — God  only  knows  how 
Years  went  by  and  she  kept  her  vow. 

Tired  heart  and  brain, 
Take  a  thought  of  this, 
June  will  come  again. 
Life  one  purpose  is 
And  the  meaning  plain, 
You  to  strike  to  do 
For  the  June- Domain 
Of  the  God  in  you, 
Power  to  go  your  way. 
Power  to  be  your  best, 
Give  the  thought  free  play, 
Put  you  to  the  test 
To  be  bold  and  true — 
There  's  the  God  in  you ! 

On  she  wandered  her  way  up  and  down 

Of  every  highway  of  every  town, 
Found  the  nozzle  of  each  by-way, 

Found  the  V-fork  in  each  Y-way, 
Took  to  meadow-stretch,  to  low  beaches 

Where  the  pursuing  ocean  reaches 
As  if  ever  putting  out  a  hand 

To  cling  to  the  lofty  lover-land. 
High-hearted  grew  she,  never  ruing, 

Losing  each  day,  each  day  pursuing. 
While  what  of  her  loss  was  worth  the  thought? — 

Should  she  not  do  her  mightiest 
To  put  her  to  the  touch  and  test 

Whether  she  won  at  it  or  not? 


332  Old  Darby 

Say,  friend,  which  were  better  you  do, 

CompHsh  the  end  you  have  in  view 
Or  end  by  'complishing  soul  in  you? 

Comes  always  a  day 

Just  after  a  night! 

See  the  star-points  play 

Their  fountains  of  light 

In  back  of  each  cloud 

So  you  may  not  see 

How  they  prick  the  shroud 

Of  eternity ! 

There  's  a  way  to  be, 

There  's  a  thing  to  do 

All  by  you  or  me 

And  no  prize  in  view 

But  the  fine  high  man 

To  be  all  he  can. 

One  morning  came  of  such  bright  new  sun 

Men  thought  the  day  must  be  overrun 
By  a  rush  of  blush  against  the  sky, 

As  if  the  cheek  wore  a  pretty  dye 
Of  scarlet  in  lapis  lazuli. 

Darby  was  up  among  all  his  birds 
To  catch  their  bell-whistle,  watch  their  cape 

Of  lemon  on  the  head  and  nape, 
To  learn  their  song  of  unworldly  words 

Nor  let  a  leaf  of  it  escape. 
Backward  and  forward  his  way  he  went, 

Each  ear  cocked  out,  each  eye  intent 
To  see  what  all  God-like  nature  meant 

By  putting  so  much  more  before  man 
Than  he  may  think  of  to  try  to  span, 


Old  Darby  333 

Unless,  i'  faith,  to  point  him  always  before 
To  what  he  may  come  to — better  and  more. 

Right  now  as  he  was  thinking  that  way, 
He  took  to  kissing  the  locket-face, 

Looking  to  skyward  much  as  to  say: 
"In  yonder  worlds  there  's  abounding  place. 

And  I  shall  have  you  another  day," 
When — such  a  voice  out  of  his  trees 

Caught  his  soul  up,  brought  whip-poor-will 
And  tree-finch  to  sudden  still, 

Such  sweet  note  in  it  as  a  breeze 
Of  August  plays  in  a  mellow  plant, 

Lilted  to  trill  like  a  pretty  chant 
To  take  him  between  throb  and  pant 

So  mightily  he  scarce  could  control 
Neck  enough  to  turn  him  to  see 

Who  spoke  so  like  a  singing  soul, 
What  the  meaning  of  it  could  be. 


Love  comes  and  who  knows 

How  it  came  to-day 

Like  a  jasper  rose 

In  the  winds  of  May, 

So  you  never  know 

How  it  found  you  so, 

Or  you  never  guess 

It  was  meant  for  you 

By  the  world  you  bless 

With  the  love  you  do. 

And  it  comes  your  way 

Like  the  rose  will  send 

Its  blossom-spray 

To  the  warm  wind- friend. 


334  Old  Darby 

Could  it  be  she  had  found  him  at  last? 

For  there  she  stood  in  his  cone-tree  yard, 
The  life  of  each  of  them  mostly  past, 

Each  way  which  they  took  so  long,  so  hard, 
Yet  now  the  sweet  wild  voice  was  at  hand, 

Was  now  at  his  ears  like  the  April  sun 
Touches  the  top  of  a  wintered  land, 

And  the  rich  round  purpose  of  love  was  done. 
For  there  they  were  fast  in  the  arms  of  each, 

Lips  tied  to  lips  to  play  their  part 
Of  open  door  to  spirit  and  heart — 

Love  was  now  in  sight  and  reach 
All  in  spite  of  such  ugly  past. 

For  they  were  one  in  the  world  at  last. 

Something  in  Nature  makes  for  Right, 
Keeps  always  perfect  Beauty  in  sight. 
So  help  it  along  all  your  soul  and  might! 


LOVE 

Such  a  sprite  is  love, 

Takes  to  lips  at  first; 
Mouth  is  good  enough, 

Meant  for  quenching  thirst- 
Little  later  on 

He  will  mount  to  cheek 
For  a  chance  to  speak 

After  thirst  is  gone — 
Next  I  see  him  rise 

Where  two  lilac  eyes 
Hold  him  ofT  apart 

And  he  sees  the  heart — 
There  he  stays  for  good 

In  his  better  mood! 
Little  later  on 

Years  and  years  are  gone, 
Nothing  more  is  there 

Where  he  nested  first 
With  his  crop  of  thirst ; 

Mouth  and  cheek  are  bare 
Of  phloxen  glare, 

Passion-stare, 
Eyes  to  drop  a  look 

Like  a  fingered  book 
With  the  covers  worn, 

Pages  torn, 
335 


33^  Love 


As  at  last  he  reads 

What  all  spirit  needs: 
Over  brow  and  brink 

I  see  soul,  I  think, 
Past  the  passing  wink ! 


LITTLE  SILVER 

By  the  lake's  light 

Out  of  my  leghorn  wood 
Of  moon-brushes  where  the  kite 

Stroked  his  feathers,  wooed, 
Played  his  weather-note, 

We  were  girl  and  boy 
In  the  days  I  quote, 

Each  heart  aimed  at  joy 
That  filled  the  throat — 

Children  we  at  our  games 
In  our  popple- wood. 

Called  the  flowers  their  names, 
Called  the  cow-fields  good. 

Tumbled  in  any  grass 
Which  was  high  and  green 

To  let  the  kildee  pass 
And  we  not  to  be  seen. 

So  he  should  drop  to  light 
Close  in  touch  and  sight 

To  lift  his  tune 
Such  a  summer  night, 

Such  a  day  of  June. 

You  know  the  children's  ways, 

Any  thought  to  do 
As  the  wine-br.sh  plays 

At  a  bath  of  dew 

337 


33^  Little  Silver 

To  drink  in  sun 

From  a  morning  hour 

Till  new  colors  run 

And  their  bush  is  a  flower !  _ 

Little  silver  hands  he  had, 

My  first  childhood's  lad; 
Little  silver  locks,  and  too. 

Eyes  half  silver,  half  blue 
To  look  me  through. 

Made  his  way  to  me 
By  his  look  of  trust, 

By  the  deity 
In  such  smallness  just ; 

Would  come  to  me  to  know 
If  bell-flowers  grew 

In  the  archipelago 
Of  sky-islands  too ! 

Came  such  singing  thought 
Out  of  his  tiny  heart 

My  song-sparrow  was  caught 
Trying  to  learn  the  part. 

Once  he  asked  to  know 

If  the  sky  I  see 
Was  a  way  to  go. 

Or  a  thing  to  be! 
A  thing  to  be,  I  said, 

Never  a  way  to  go, 
For  there  are  your  blue  and  red 

In  apple-green  glow; 
There  is  your  height  for  you 

To  be  climbing  to; 


Little  Silver  339 

Breadth  too,  and  depth  to  grow 

To  no  end  of  it  so ; 
There  is  power  which  grows 

By  the  power  it  shows ; 

Beauty,  too,  which  stays 

Beyond  change  of  days — 
All  this  for  you  to  be. 

Height,  power,  quiddity 
To  no  end,  you  to  be  it. 

Not  to  gulp  nor  flee  it. 
Be  all  of  all  that  is, 

Star-points,  mighty  precipice 
Up  the  sky,  down  the  sky, 

All  that  is  fine  and  high. 

In  our  grape-field  one  day 

Fairly  I  heard  him  say: 
See  how  this  purj^le  plum 

Is  deaf  and  dumb. 
Yet  has  sweet  life,  has  plump, 

Knows  a  way  too  to  pump 
Juice  up  out  of  earth 

To  get  the  jelly- worth, 
Yet  will  it  pause  to  die. 

Drop  its  hazel  eye, 
Drop  its  belle-monte  dye. 

Ah,  said  I  now, 

There  's  the  same  new  sweet 
In  this  evening  sleet; 

There 's  the  over-brown  brow 
In  my  evening  cloud  now; 

There  's  the  purple  cheek 


340  Little  Silver 


Tries  to  look  and  speak 

From  yonder  sky-ended  peak — 
The  blue  brow  and  fine  strip 

Of  vermilion  lip, 
All  that  was  ever  given 

To  your  plum,  lies  there  in  heaven. 

So  I  think  of  him, 

Of  his  lofty  whim, 
Of  his  gurgling  chaff, 

Little  silver  laugh. 
For  so  I  lost  him  there 

When  his  step  was  true. 
When  his  heart  was  new, 

When  his  soul  was  fair. 

He  was  meant  for  me. 

As  I  could  know  and  see 
By  our  way  we  leaped  in  tune 

That  plump  afternoon. 
By  our  thought  together 

As  moon  and  weather, 
By  our  fly-kite  way 

We  took  to  play 
At  the  round  orange  sky 

To  catch  its  morning  eye, 
Evening  dye. 

On  another  day. 
By  another  way. 

In  another  clay 
I  know  he  shall  be  found 

Somewhere  in  the  all  around. 
The  best  of  him,  above  ground. 


Little  Silver  341 

But  now  I  think  of  him, 

Little  silver  eye  and  limb, 
To  count  for  what  is  fair 

Beyond  me,  beyond  compare 
In  the  super-lunar  air. 

Yonder,  I  think,  so  far 
Above  life,  above  here. 

Outside  of  hope  or  fear, 
All  out  of  this  shock  of  jar 

Hangs  my  Little  Silver  Star! 


TWINS 

Two  twin  sisters  were  these  two  girls 

I  tell  you  about, 
So  alike  in  chin-play  and  pout 

And  cheek-side  and  curls 
One  could  not  tell  them  apart, 

Not  if  he  looked  forever  in  their  heart. 

Each  took  the  one  way  of  truing 

Her  side-hair  to  make  it  obey, 
Each  took  the  other's  way  of  doing 

What  waited  to  be  done  each  day — 
Let  us  see  what  came  to  pass 

One  morning  in  their  one  looking-glass! 

In  peace  they  lived  to  this  day  now 

I  tell  you  about, 
Tripped  and  sang  happily  in  and  out 

As  girls  know  how, 
So  3''ou  would  not  find  a  day 

When  they  were  not  one  in  their  bubbleplay, 

For  one  was  the  other  so  you  could  see 

Not  a  difference  by  half  a  hair, 
Each  as  the  other  grew  for  fair. 

So  grew  no  cause  for  jealousy, 
Both  alike  so  in  trim  and  mood 

One  could  not  envy  the  other  if  she  would. 
342 


Twins  343 

Came  now  the  lover,  one  true  knight 

Of  the  village  best, 
To  make  his  whole  heart  manifest 

Of  a  Christmas  night — 
Mark  you  now  he  never  knew 

They  were  twins,  so  like  each  other  too! 

This  night  it  chanced  he  never  saw 

His  love  he  hoped  and  hungered  for. 

For  there  her  twin  sister  came 

Seeming  like  her  so  just  the  same 

He  could  not  know  he  should  err, 

So  poured  his  whole  heartf  ul  out  to  her ! 

Next  day  came  each  sister  to  know 

She  was  quite  as  much 
As  the  other  was  to  see  and  touch, 

At  least  as  men  go. 
Since  one  would  answer  as  well 

As  the  other,  far  as  men  could  tell. 

So  now  this  plan  came  fixed  upon: 

Each  one  a  different  shape  should  take 
By  bodice,  make  up  a  different  make, 

By  shirt-waist  one,  each  one  to  don 
A  new  other  kind  of  hat 

And  spit-curl  and  cute  cravat 

To  difference  between  the  two. 

So   a  man  could  say 
Which  one  of  the  two  he  saw  that  day, 

If  white  cap  or  blue — 
So  that  way  it  came  to  pass 

One  morning  both  stared  in  one  looking-glass 


344  Twins 

To  take  an  infinite  bother, 

Each  to  look  different  from  the  other, 
When — lo,  one  caught  the  wish  to  look  better, 

To  make  her  winsomer,  rosetter. 
While  right  there  then  their  trouble  began 

Now  each  got  in  harness  to  catch  a  man. 

Both  jealousy  and  envy  grew. 

As  surely  you  know 
How  positively  it  must  be  so 

And  the  end  in  view 
Be  the  one  man  to  be  got 

At  all  hazard  and  whether  or  not. 

One  put  a  brighter  spot  to  the  cheek, 

Touched  up  each  dimple  to  make  it  speak, 

While  the  other  stood  primping  alias 
So  not  to  let  one  pin-shot  pass 

Which  cotdd  put  a  man  under  fetter — 
Anything  to  look  other  and  better 

Till  each  thought  the  other  one  grew 

Handsomer  by  far. 
Both  with  no  chance  to  be  at  par 

Nor  yet  to  outdo. 
When  sudden  it  chanced,  alas. 

They  put  the  whole  blame  on  the  looking-glass! 

Sooner  than  one  could  see. 

Four  small  fists  struck  the  mirror  so 

To  rain  such  vengeance,  blow  on  blow. 
By  such  compunctioned  enmity. 

There  went  quick  moments  none  could  tell 
Where  under  skies  the  mirror  fell. 


Twins  345 

Next  was  set  up  between  them  this 

For  cornerstone: 
Each  should  see  her  young  knight  alone, 

As  custom  is, 
By  which  way  each  one  should  think 

To  play  her  best  game  of  dimple  and  wink. 

Once  he  came  again,  once  he  saw 

How  two  sisters  contended  for. 
Not  him  so  much,  as  in  each  case 

Each  for  the  handsomer  shape  and  face, 
Each  to  tell  him,  as  each  did, 

The  other  stood  cold  as  a  pyramid. 

Lacked  Beauty,  lacked  noble  blend 

Of  elbow  and  joist. 
Was  dozzled,  was  too  pipingly  voiced 

To  be  perfect  friend — 
Once  he  saw  their  way  they  talked, 

How  neither  purposed  to  be  balked. 

Each  by  her  pretty  fling  and  pout 

Bound  to  crowd  the  other  out, 
There  he  rounded  him  up  to  know 

They  were  still  twins,  like  each  other  so 
In  snap  and  bite  and  sulky  smother. 

He  would  not  one  girl  or  the  other ! 


HELL 

All  well  done, 

Napoleon? 
Scarcely  that!     Not  so  well  done! 

War  's  severe, 

Souls  are  dear. 
There  's  no  wisdom  in  a  gun. 
Better  things  not  so  well  done, 
Not  so  much  of  Napoleon! 


Drum-ticks  and  gun-puffs  to  your  war, 
And  you  proud  of  it 

Who  scarce  know  what  you  are  fighting  for!- 
You  love  the  loud  of  it, 
Boom-bombast  of  bassoon, 
Trumpet  march  in  rigadoon, 
High  pipery  of  shalms 
To  your  blazonry  of  arms, 
Bold  piletus  in  the  air 
To  stab,  what  matters  where, 

So  you  kill  your  brave  brothers  there ! 

II 

Fire-balls  to  the  fore ! 

They  've  a  pretty  light 

To  keep  the  killing-trick  in  sight 

For  another  age  or  more — 

346 


Hell  347 

Blood-letting  to  let  you  know 

Truth  triumphs  by  an  overflow 

Of  guts  in  an  open  field, 

Your  geniusing  to  teach  men  to  yield 

To  just  your  view  of  right, 

So  out  with  a  claw  to  strike  on  sight 

As  pumas  do — hate  and  fight! 

Ill 

Your  fingers  in  his  throat 

For  love  of  God, 

Streak  his  blood  up  the  citron  sod 

So  you  may  glutton  and  bloat ! 

Or  was  it  a  new  dispute 

Brought  you  to  knuckles  of  lead, 

Made  you  scorpion,  ugly  brute. 

And  your  brothers  there  in  thousands  dead? 

Dog- work,  and  what  of  it 

Save  somewhat  you  lost  or  covet? — 

Lives  a  man  who  loves  to  love  it? 

IV 

Whatever  you  may  not  love 

I  hold  for  wrong  in  the  run  of  men, 

'Though  you  capture  not  freedom  enough, 

'Though  the  hope  you  have  come  never  again; 

For  what  may  a  man  do  more 

Than  man  him  by  mightiness  of  soul, 

Whether  his  gain  be  a  puny  score 

Or  he  crush  the  world  and  he  get  the  whole? 

One  way  only  is  to  do 

To  get  the  best  and  most  of  you ; 

Follow  love — love  is  kind  and  true. 


348  Hell 


Gun- tread  and  banner  drop, 

Give  me  your  halt  and  hush  of  arms, 

Let  the  college  of  kindness  prop 

Your  purpose,  lift  you  your  palms 

To  brotherward,  which  is  to  skyward, 

Lest  you  be  mouth-mock  and  just  byword 

Among  the  nations  to  come 

By  your  cutthroat-dance  to  pipe  and  drum 

To  settle  each  high  dispute 

By  genius  to  throttle  and  loot 

Like  dragons,  play  stink-pot  brute! 


VI 


Hark  to  the  click  of  dnmis, 
Look  to  your  stripes  on  high, 
Hark  how  the  trombone  hums 
Fair  music  and  men  roll  by 
By  columns  of  bosom-chums 
For  never  quiver  nor  sigh 
Where  cannon  on  cannon  comes 
Nor  a  soul  could  answer  you  why, 
Only  their  trimipet  and  drums 
Marshal  them  forward  to  die 
And  be  scattered  as  crimibs! 

VII 

Epaulets  bright  as  a  sun, 
Shoulder  to  shoulder  to  flash 
Like  a  breath  of  )'our  Vulcan-gun, 
Like  swords  in  your  sash — 


Hell  349 

Oriflamb  flaunted  in  air 

As  an  eagle  flaps  his  wings 

Before  he  pounces  to  tear 

The  soul  out  of  things — 

For  wrong,  for  right,  what  matter  which? 

Strike  up  the  drums  to  pitch-fork  pitch 

To  toss  your  mates  to  an  ugly  ditch ! 

VIII 

To  pipes  and  cymbals  of  war, 

Close  man's  heart  for  an  open  door! 

Sweep  their  land  by  storms  of  fire 

To  gorge  your  hungry  chop-desire 

To  govern  men  and  things 

By  fear,  by  slings  and  stings, 

Nor  counts  it  once  how  conscience  rings! 

To  pipes  and  the  drums  of  war. 

All  hazard  for  an  open  door, 

All  hell  to  him  in  his  track 

Who  lets  his  Heavenliness  hold  him  back ! 

IX 

Parade  to  the  shoulder  of  arms ! 

A  truce  to  your  cycle  of  calms! 

Rouse  up  the  lungs  now  he  comes, 

Diapason  of  bugles  and  drums 

To  a  conqueror-chief — have  a  care 

For  the  true  pale  maiden  lying  there 

Without  a  breath  at  your  feet — 

How  she  was  fair  as  her  soul  was  sweet, 

Her  soldier's  mate,  and  so  soulful-true 

The  shot  that  struck  him  struck  her  too — 

Just  so  much  the  worse  for  you! 


SHELDRAKE  ELEGANCE 

Dutiful 

As  she  was  beautiful 
This  girl  was  whom  I  knew  in  my  time; 

Such  were  the  grace  of  her 

And  happy  face  of  her, 

Voice  so  like  a  silver  chime 
I  could  not  catch  a  least  note  in  rhyme, 

'Though  I  hear  it  now  and  again. 
Like  the  pretty  bugle  of  a  wren. 

So  fair  she  was  to  see, 

As  I  saw  her  then, 
A  man  would  lose  his  whole  majesty 
If  he  could  never  know  her  again 
When  morning  brought  her  no  other  care 

Than  caroling,  leaping  free 
To  perch  like  a  blossom  in  the  air 
For  perfect  so  he  could  not  spare 
One  moment  of  her  and  she  so  fair. 

Yet  could  she  not  see 
Herself  so  but  what 
There  must  he  ways  for  her  to  be 
Yet  more  beautiful — there  were  angles 
Ribbons  could  make,  there  were  bangles 
Ears  could  wear,  there  were  bays. 
Yuccas,  cutish  bonnet-ways, 
350 


Sheldrake  Elegance  351 

The  diamond-eye  which  blinks  and  spangles, 
Feather-head  displays; 


Why  not  teach  the  cheek 

New  cunning,  one  daub 

Of  pink,  one  way  to  rob 
Modesty  of  a  chance  to  speak,    •, 

Or  just  about  the  throat 

Put  little  knuckles  of  pearl, 

As  if  they  could  strike  a  note 
Or  match  the  swan-white  neck  of  a  girl 

For  Beauty  half  a  mote? 

Is  not  Beauty  enough, 

Take  it  in  the  rough? 

Spare  us  your  hand 

That  would  clip  and  doctor  and  countermand. 
As  well  I  take  my  Shiraz-grape, 
Plump  it  in  your  pot  of  sand 
For  a  whiter  new  pure  kind  of  land, 
Dock  it  to  one  size  and  shape. 
Tie  this  ribbon  in  the  nape 
For  witness  to  my  master-hand ! 

Her  Beauty  would  not  do, 
Was  not  enough  to  satisfy — 
She  must  have  sunflower,  plomb-blue, 
Old  fustic  or  pot  of  dye 
To  smother  herself,  snuff  out 
The  dimple-play,  river  pout, 
Make  herself  over  new, 
All  to  try  to  persuade  her 
She  could  be  handsomer  than  God  made  her. 


352  Sheldrake  Elegance 

Now  then  came  her  lover, 
Who  for  first  time  saw  above  her! 

She  stood  not  so  high 
As  once  she  was  in  his  keen  eye 
For  Beauty — he  could  not  see 
Trace  of  the  old  supremacy 
Of  sweet  face  that  used  to  be, 

Now  it  was  lost  in  feathers 
Like  a  new  moon  in  a  mix  of  weathers. 

So  she  lost  her  lover  so 

By  seeming  more,  by  being  less 

Than  just  her  own  true  loveliness — 

Gone  was  her  charm  as  cheek  will  go 

Out  of  a  rose  if  I  indigo 

The  blush  just  as  it  tries  to  blow — 

One  sure  thing  was  this:  he  was  gone 

Like  starlight  out  of  a  melted  dawn, 

Nor  reason  for  it  she  could  con. 

Gold  was  her  portion  in  this  world. 
Plenty  rich  yellow  mighty  gold ; 
She  should  be  furbelowed  and  pearled. 
Wonder  would  wonder  to  behold 

One  so  fine  so  young. 
Her  pearls  to  dangle  from  every  tongue, 

She  to  shine  alone 
As  shines  the  moon  in  an  empty  zone 
All  by  a  Beauty  not  her  own. 

Yet  life  proved  to  be  not  enough 
That  she  herself  just  herself  should  love. 
Now  her  neglected  heart 
Began  to  play  a  part. 


Sheldrake  Elegance  353 

Herself  just  and  her  gold 

And  the  story  is  old: 
Nothing  was  in  it  to  satisfy 
Longing  which  will  not  die — 
Always  came  the  one  certain  sigh, 

One  fine  low  whisper  in  the  heart 
How  nothing  in  the  world  is  much 
If  love  be  out  of  it,  how  your  art. 
Your  power  supreme,  your  gold  and  such 

Will  dwindle  to  a  point. 
The  life  you  go  run  out  of  joint 
If  you  hold  this  soul-part  back, 
Never  give  the  heart  a  snack. 
Try  to  fatten  on  a  lack. 

Came,  too,  one  old  truth  new  again: 

Each  new  loss  makes  a  certain  gain, 

As  there  one  day  it  was  told 

For  wonder  that  she  lost  her  gold — 

For  so  it  was — she  was  bereft 

Of  feathers  and  not  a  quillful  left — 

Just  her  plain  look  again  was  there; 

Once  more  came  the  girlhood  hair. 

Free-play  laugh  and  careless  air 

To  put  her  at  her  best  for  fair. 

Next  now  her  lover  came  to  see 

The  old  Beauty  in  her — 't  was  an  hour  of  May, 

Close  to  evening,  there  was  one  way 

Straight  to  his  cinnamon-tree 

Of  a  garden  corner,  the  old  place 

Of  pretty  spurge,  corn-bottle  grace — 


354  Sheldrake  Elegance 

There  came  just  her  sweet  one  sigh 

Now  the  new  moon  began  to  ply 

And  he  came  straight  to  her  Up  and  eye 

With  all  of  that  one  mortal  kiss 
Men  die  for  rather  than  they  miss — 

Truth  was  as  truth  is, 
The  simple-skirted  way  of  her 
And  natural  free  play  of  her 
Made  marvel  of  such  supremacy 
Of  loveliness  as  found  his  heart 
By  her  art  of  knowing  not  an  art, 
This  one  text  put  plain  above  her: 
Hide  your  gold  if  you  want  a  lover! 


HLS  WORST 

The  value  of  evil  lies  in  this: 

The  thing  was  meant  to  be  overcome 
In  a  fight  to  see  who  the  master  is, 

One  test  of  strength  in  the  total  sum 
Which  moulds  a  man,  builds  him  strong — 

There  is  the  value  of  wrong! 

I 

What  a  bull-hided  ass 

Man  is  to  think 
He  may  let  the  God's  truth  pass, 

Ignore  it  with  a  wink, 
May  throw  him  against  the  laws 

Which  govern  his  chops  and  paws, 
Drive  smash  against  what  is  right 

To  be  master  by  might, 
Nor  sees  Beauty  around 

In  sky  and  ground, 
Beauty  wherever  he  looks 

In  storm-horns  or  brooks, 
Beauty  of  soul  and  limb, 

Beauty  the  food  and  flower  of  him, 
He  deep  there  in  the  swim 

With  no  power  to  get  out 
More  than  the  sun-beam  trout 

May  dodge  his  spots  or  water-spout- 
Beauty  which,  whenever  struck. 

Strikes  back  at  his  blunder-pluck. 
355 


35^^  His  Worst 


Speaking  of  laws,  by  the  way, 

Effect  and  cause  day  by  day, 
Laws  of  matter  and  mind 

Which  I  hunt  and  I  find. 
Laws  which  hold  each  planet  true 

To  a  track  in  the  skies, 
Stripe  a  sea-bream's  gullet  blue, 

Plant  stars  in  his  eyes — 
Laws  which  also  I  find 

Harness  wings  to  the  mind 
Till  I  grow  high  inclined, 

Half  by  the  truth  I  find. 
Half  by  the  false  I  leave  behind — 

Speaking  of  mind  and  matter  laws. 
How  they  work  effect  and  cause, 

Did  you  think  Right  and  Wrong 
Piped  another  song. 

Ran  hap-hazard  wild 
As  a  runaway  child. 

Are  governed  by  no  rules, 
Like  a  pair  of  fools? 

Oh,  brother,  there  goes  one  beautiful  law 

Worth  your  hunting  for, 
Power  of  Rightness  to  run 

Above  any  sun, 
Power  of  Rightness  to  cut  through 

All  the  worst  in  view, 
Power  of  Rightness  to  survive 

All  you  see  alive. 
Beauty  to  the  flaming  spit, 
Man  to  become  part  of  it 
If  he  would  seize  upon  Power, 

Ride  the  riding  hour! 


His  Worst  357 

II 

Take  to  thought  this  story  once  I  heard ! 

True,  I  wager,  ev'ry  word, 
An  old-time  tale  which  was  told 

By  men  who  were  growing  old, 
So  cotdd  get  one  glimpse  of  truth 

Never  they  got  in  youth ! 

Young  my  man  was  who  grunted  in  wealth, 

Held  his  two  lips  up  to  health, 
Nothing  he  wanted  which  men 

Try  for  again  and  again 
Ere  they  fail,  ere  they  drop — 

Wealth  and  power  filled  his  crop. 

Alone  he  lived  in  his  palace-home ; 

Full  away  far  the  gilded  dome 
Was  seen  of  men  as  they  saw 

How  he  lived  to  angle  for 
Evil  ever — never  he  stood 

For  a  game  which  was  trued. 

Beautiful  was  as  a  place  could  be 

All  about  him — one  could  see 
Grape-hyacinth  and  monkey-flower 

Lure  a  musk-ox  to  their  bower. 
Big  battalions  of  pink  birds 

With  only  songs  for  words. 

Porphyry  fountains  so  high  in  air 
They  caught  breath  of  fire  there; 

Apple  saplings  in  short  dress 

Made  their  mark  for  loveliness; 

Everywhere  was  everything 
To  let  the  senses  ring. 


358  His  Worst 

For  understanding  my  young  man  well, 

I  have  this  of  him  to  tell: 
Wrong  he  loved,  by  way  of  choice 

As  boy  among  fellow  boys, 
Joyed  in  evil  as  a  fish 

Leaps  to  his  wash  and  wish. 

He  grew  his  way  to  be  man  by  spite, 
Grew  cruel  and  mean  by  might 

Of  power  and  wealth  which  he  had. 
All  he  thought  to  do  was  bad 

As  hell  could  think  it  or  do  it, 

Nor  thought  he  once  ever  he  could  rue  it. 

Alone  he  lived,  yet  kept  no  mind 

Ever  to  be  left  behind 
In  what  this  world  counts  first, 

To  tickle  each  kind  of  thirst, 
Put  the  senses  to  bubble, 

Dodge  every  trouble. 

Think  ever  of  marriage  he  could  not 
For  its  forced  forget-me-not ; 

Could  not  think  of  it  for  love, 

That  were  never  game  enough. 

Besides  being  twice  too  good 

To  match  lips  with  his  puma-mood. 

Evil  he  loved,  yet  he  could  not  find 

Any  woman  of  his  kind 
To  fill  his  thought,  take  his  hue. 

Match  him,  take  to  evil  too 
For  love  of  it,  so  he  played 

This  game  of  craft  instead : 


His  Worst  359 

A  child  he  took  to  his  home  to  raise, 
To  mould  to  his  thought  and  ways, 

An  orphan  child  which  he  found 
Famished  in  the  village  pound. 

Took  her  to  coddle  and  keep 
And  one  day  to  reap. 

She  should  take  on  his  color  of  thought. 
Be  what  he  himself  was  to  a  dot, 

Grow  to  his  liking  for  slave, 

Be  like  him,  petulant  knave, 

Bend  to  his  whim  like  a  flower 
To  the  lick  of  a  shower. 

She  should  drink  luxury  all  her  days, 

Learn  of  his  top-model  ways 
How  to  catch  sweetness  which  drops 

From  a  thistle-bird's  chops, 
Know  of  life  how  it  is  made 

Just  for  jackal  and  jade. 

Nought  she  should  know  of  aught  good  in  life, 

Not  know  of  husband  and  wife, 
Of  virtue,  wisdom,  or  truth, 

Not  know  of  love  in  her  youth, 
Only  of  evil  to  do 

To  be  great  through  and  through. 

Grew  she  up  so  to  take  his  will, 

To  step  to  his  drum-tap  drill. 
Took  his  thought,  mastered  his  knack 

Of  loving  life  for  its  lack 
Of  what  was  noble  or  true — 

So  she  lived,  so  she  grew. 


360  His  Worst 

The  animal  in  him  took  first  prize, 
Tiger-love  to  light  his  eyes, 

Lips  like  two  nuggets  of  flame 

To  destroy — all  his  great  game 

Was  just  to  dodge  truth  and  its  kinks, 
Play  loose  as  a  lynx. 

Life  they  both  took  as  the  wild  winds  slap 
At  my  pear  or  carrot-cap. 

Thought  not  of  others,  but  just 
Of  their  swill-tub  of  lust. 

Cut  loose,  cut  wild  in  their  day 
Their  gyrfalcon  way. 

The  Beauty  of  things  she  saw  about, 
He  would  tell  her  with  his  flout, 

Was  meant  to  inflame  the  blood, 
Body  was  the  only  good, 

Hot  flesh,  bold  bowel-desire, 
Four  lips  and  one  fire. 

His  pink  small  birds  in  his  bouquet-tree 

Only  sang  luxuriously 
To  bring  taste  into  the  lips, 

Tingle  nerves  to  the  finger-tips, 
Join  mouth  and  mouth  y-fere, 

Put  a  lute  in  the  ear. 

Touch  just  and  taste  were  points  in  sight: 
Take  his  lemon- tree  and  kite. 

Matched  were  they  two  to  mingle 
Life  and  soiil  and  elbow-tingle, 

All  for  the  sake  of  one  gulp 
Of  treacle  and  pulp. 


His  Worst  361 

Beauty  could  serve  no  use,  so  he  saw, 

Worth  her  time  for  trying  for 
But  to  send  blood  to  a  boil, 

Teach  the  white  forearm  to  coil, 
Lips  to  low-languish  to  die — 

Every  breath  is  a  sigh! 

See  how  he  counted  without  his  host! 

Never  he  saw  her  other  ghost 
Which  held  her,  kept  her  in  keep, 

Even  as  the  wild  winds  sleep 
Before  the  spurs  of  the  sun 

Put  them  to  the  run, 

Her  hidden  self  which  he  never  saw, 

Never  once  was  looking  for. 
Her  deep-down  soul  which  was  there, 

Held  her  in  keep  and  in  care. 
Would  not  let  her  once  out  of  sight 

The  small  part  of  a  night — 

Her  sold !  Oh,  friend,  take  to  this  for  true, 

There  's  the  subtle  soul  in  you 
Will  not  be  lost  sight  of, 

Clings  to  Beauty  for  the  might  of 
All  things  which  are  dreamed  or  known, 

And  they  are  all  your  own! 

For  look,  one  night  they  swang  together 

In  his  hammock  as  a  feather 
Tosses  careless  in  the  wind; 

The  day  was  worn  and  thinned 
To  one  small  opening  of  pink, 

As  if  night  tried  to  wink ; 


362  His  Worst 

Fell  they  asleep  in  each  other's  arms 
Among  his  fan-trees  and  balms; 

Song-lips  whistled  in  the  leaves, 
Fig-birds  fingered  at  the  eaves 

Of  fountains  of  silver  song 

Through  the  sweet  night  long. 

Each  little  end  of  a  thumb  of  grass 
Pointed  more  than  this  life  has, 

Would  dangle  an  eye  of  dew, 

Throw  one  pure  look  back  to  you 

All  only  that  you  should  see 
More  is  to  come  to  to  be 

Than  jowls  or  your  angles  made  of  knees, 
Lip-lust  and  the  elbow-squeeze, 

Pap-life  which  men  so  boast  of 

They  have  gained,  made  the  most  of- 

Puff-balls  to  scatter  their  dust 
To  the  slaps  of  a  gust ! 

Life  was  worth  well  doing,  she  dreamed — 
Summer  dog- wheat  how  it  beamed, 

Branches  for  fingers  to  reach 

To  drop  her  their  fatted  peach. 

She  in  her  way  to  grow  great 
As  blue  plums  in  a  date. 

Dreamed  she,  so,  she  sickened  at  heart 
To  think  of  what  tumble-bug  part 

She  played  in  life,  so  far  for  what 
Counted  only  diaphragm-pot, 

All  the  best  part  of  her  gone 
Like  a  star  after  dawn. 


His  Worst  363 


The  man  at  her  side  was  monster- thought ! 

Think  of  him  now  she  could  not 
But  for  hatred  and  fierce  hard  heart 

Which  throbbed  to  tear  him  apart — 
To  scatter  him  limb  and  limb 

Now  was  her  one  thought  of  him ! 

Nor  sooner  thought  than  there  as  she  slept, 

Softly  to  his  throat  she  crept, 
Locked  her  white  teeth  where  each  small  breath 

Whispered  to  him  of  only  death, 
Tore  his  throat  out  for  her  feast 

By  the  bite  of  a  beast. 

How  his  white  nostrils  pointed  sharp 

As  the  fins  of  a  carp, 
Such  two  straight  eyes  meant  to  die 

Staring  into  yonder  sky 
As  if  for  a  chance  to  see 

What  was  left  him  to  be! 

Each  star  looked  down  the  same  as  before. 
Yet  he  should  see  them  no  more! 

Had  he  gone  another  way 

To  begin  again — who  shall  say, 

Save  that  he  did  his  worst 
And  the  thing  is  curst? 


MY  FRIENDS 


Homeless  sea-coot  perches  at  night 
In  sea-rip,  between  its  teeth, 
To  claw  storms,  swallow  blight, 
Knowing  never  how  to  breathe, 
How  the  washes  suck  and  seethe, 
Marshalls  his  feathers  in  place 
For  oars,  one  foot  out  for  rudder, 
The  other  under  for  his  keel 
To  straight  him  like  an  iron  heel 
And  not  a  little  ounce  of  pudder 
As  on  he  drives  to  cut  and  peel 
The  seas  off  so  to  let  me  feel 
He  is  master  to  split  them  through 
The  spike-beak  of  foam-ugly  blue 
To  ride  them  out  to  the  top-end  too. 

II 

Molly-mauw  is  in  wing 
To  plow  above  the  thundering; 
I  could  see  the  sea-boil  churn 
Round  which  once  he  fetched  one  turn, 
One  wheeling  wheel  as  if  to  split 
The  bull-wind,  make  mince  of  it, 
Then  the  clean  upward  shoot, 
All  the  planet  under  foot 
364 


My  Friends  3^5 

As  if  to  point  one  point  to  men 
Worth  their  looking  to  again, 
The  point  in  his  blue  meridian. 


III 

Helminth  furrows  through  his  park, 
Sails  by  no  chart  under  ground, 
Makes  him  master  of  the  dark 
By  tough  rub,  downward  bound 
To  where  he  neither  knows  nor  cares 
So  he  bore  the  planet  through 
Trusting  to  his  power  to  run 
Up  or  down,  builds  no  stairs, 
Which  is  more  than  you  could  do 
Who  cry  for  Heaven  and  help  and  sun. 

IV 

Fingerling  fears  not  his  wave. 
There  he  lives  there  in  his  grave, 
Topsy-turvy  for  his  sport, 
Endless  ocean  for  his  court. 
Every  unknown  coast  his  port. 
And  he  no  end  in  sight 
But  fine  fins  and  endless  flight 
To  keep  his  poise,  flash  his  blue, 
Loophole  power  to  button  to. 


Little  lintie  in  his  cell 
In  a  fork  of  zinfandel. 
Under  his  one  leaf  for  shed 
To  duck  the  sun  off  overhead, 


366  My  Friends 

Tunes  his  master-music  true, 

One  song  for  him,  two  for  you 

If  you  put  an  eye  to  ghstcn, 

Let  him  know  you  love  to  listen, 

He  of  no  greedy  thought, 

What 's  to  come  of  it,  what  not. 

So  he  unbosom  to  sing. 

You  for  listener,  he  for  king 

Till  there  your  heart  will  clap  and  ring. 


VI 


Ibex  under  quitasol 

Of  his  branch  of  ice. 

Mastiff  mountain  for  his  doll, 

Hungry  gullet  for  his  price 

He  pays  for  power  to  climb 

Up  above  pastures  of  snow 

Into  all  shining  rime. 

Leaves  his  bath  of  sun  below, 

Snatches  at  the  blue  point  there 

Of  fire  which  has  all  heaven  to  share, 

And  life  is  blue  fire  everywhere. 

VII 

Primula  in  Labrador  hood 

Puts  up  a  hand  to  take 

What  there  is  of  eternal  good 

I  call  sweet,  elegant  make 

Of  slender  waist,  of  cotton  cheek 

In  scarlet,  like  a  lip  to  speak ; 

Thinking  fingers,  power  to  pass 

Thought  up  to  you  from  the  grass — 


My  Friends  367 


Such  the  wing-swing  to  and  fro, 
Such  whisper,  if  kind  winds  blow, 
Such  tiny  hand  up  to  you  so 
To  hold  to,  to  not  let  you  go! 

VIII 

Grass-moth  like  an  eagle  sails 

In  his  forest  of  green  spars. 

Makes  his  heaven,  never  fails, 

Yet  he  never  sees  the  stars, 

Plays  his  Maygame  in  the  sun, 

Overjoy  on  wing  to  run, 

While  scarcely  is  his  dancing  done 

Ere  he  will  round  the  sunbeam  swing, 

Fetch  his  poise  for  silvering 

In  open  heaven,  there  to  cling 

To  perish  boldly  on  the  wing. 


IX 


Ounce  in  his  cape  of  fur 

Forgets  winter,  forgets  to  stir; 

The  sky  empties  its  dippers, 

For  here  is  snow  in  the  wind 

— Only  the  wind  in  silver  slippers — 

While  my  monarch  has  it  pinned, 

His  jaws  in  the  snarling  wind. 

His  claws  in  the  mountain  roots, 

While  I  hear  him  beat  and  gnash, 

Take  the  tough  wind's  ugly  gash. 

So  who  is  there  now  disputes 

His  monarchy,  his  royal  routes 

To  lordship  beyond  storm  or  brutes? 


368  My  Friends 


Sword-bee  plunges  his  sword 

— Wise  of  you  you  take  my  word — 

Strikes  because  he  follows  sweet 

And  you  there  bent  on  his  defeat; 

He  files  in  blossom,  drinks  the  dew 

Of  moly,  while  just  as  you 

Come  to  put  your  bill  there  too 

He  lets  you  have  it,  through  and  through ! 

So  he  monarchs  in  lilac  limb, 

Not  the  panther  troubles  him ; 

Sucks  the  honeysuckle's  teat, 

His  life  just  his  trick  to  tickle 

Gullet  and  he  drowns  in  treacle — 

So  he  souls  and  bowls  for  sweet, 

Only  sweetness  his  defeat. 


XI 


Chelonian  lives  in  his  casket. 
Ducks  his  head  in,  too,  to  mask  it; 
Unbeautiful,  yet  is  he  wise 
To  pass  the  sun  off  and  the  flies 
To  capture  peace  before  he  dies; 
Never  lip  of  him  to  speak, 
Never  blush  in  the  iron  cheek. 
So  safe  in  his  pelt  of  brass 
High  hyena  lets  him  pass. 
Just  his  safety  all  he  has. 

XII 

Chum-dog — he  such  my  friend 
As  makes  no  mention  of  himself 


My  Friends  369 


More  than  mute  aerial  elf, 
Follows  me  to  the  ripe  dead  end 
Of  any  worst  way  I  go, 
Takes  disaster  with  me  so 
Like  a  spark  of  what  is  divine 
I  know  his  fine  heart  ties  to  mine 
By  love  which  is  frightless  and  true 
And  mightier  than  many  of  you — 
Lion-bold  to  take  his  stand 
And  wc  take  life  and  death  in  hand 
The  way  we  love  and  understand, 
While  what  is  there  more  of  limb 
In  you,  of  handsome  spirit-whim 
In  you  than  what  I  find  in  him? 

XIII 

These  are  my  friends — I  know  them  so 

All  by  their  one  way  they  go 

To  ripen,  to  take  their  seat 

Higher  than  your  game— Defeat! 

Look  how  they  fetch  all  they  are! 

Look  how  they  come  near  and  far 

As  any  spirit,  any  star! 

Look  them,  will  you,  through  and  through 

To  see  in  them  the  power  in  you 

To  ripen,  gripen,  strike  to  do, 

And  not  the  gold-coin-sky  in  view  1 

XIV 

These  are  my  friends  to  the  last  ditch ! 
They  take  just  my  itch  and  pitch. 
My  love  of  crumpet,  my  finger-twitch, 
And,  mark,  they  never  drop  a  stitch! 


370  My  Friends 

Under  the  sun  they  stripe  and  broaden, 

Whether  kinging  or  down- trodden, 

Open  eyes  to  greaten,  Godden; 

So  I  get  my  truth  from  them 

As  it  arrows  from  my  gem ; 

So  they  show  what  soul  may  be, 

So  they  bring  their  soul  to  me. 


XV 


My  friends  and  always  my  friends ! 

Life  to  them  for  little  ends 

Did  you  think?     Which  were  greater, 

Surmullet  in  emerald  water 

Prancing  in  his  palace-quarter, 

Or  you,  twibil  up  for  slaughter. 

You  the  boasted  Beauty-hater, 

Nature's  mighty  underrater? 

I  and  they  seek  the  same  ends 

So  as  soul  on  soul  depends, 

So  I  tell  you  we  are  friends! 


MAN  OR  BOOK? 

Once  I  had  a  friend  was  writing  a  book — 

Now  look 
To  see  what  a  worid  of  pains  he  took 

In  his  optative,  in  his  preterit, 
His  purpose  to  wrestle  with  an  "if" 

To  argue  an  absolute  relative, 
As  if  spirit  depended  on  it — 

Now  see, 
There  he  would  pick  at  Divinity 
To  make  it  less  than  Infinity 
So  he  could  come  to  understand 
God  too  has  a  lip  and  hand, 
Finds  a  thing  to  do  or  say 

Man-mannered,  the  Kickapoo-way, 
Takes  time, 
Takes  means  to  accomplish  things, 

So  he  argued:  My  sparrows  chime. 
By  which  I  know  God  whistles  and  sings. 

First  this: 
What  use  in  my  heart  or  land 

Of  a  God  no  man  may  understand, 
A  God  I  am  meant  to  miss? 

My  word,  one  page  of  his  reason 
Had  a  kick  in  it  of  treason 
Like  this: 

371 


372  Man  or  Book  ? 

Man  makes  his  clock  by  his  thinking-plan, 

Then  is  his  clock  like  the  Maker,  Man ! 
So  too 
God  must  have  a  shin  or  two, 

Likewise  must  have  love  and  hate. 
Have  what  you  have  to  make  Him  great! 
Like  him 

His  Maker  must  have  his  trick  and  whim 
To  think,  to  reason  each  purpose  out, 

So  He  must  have  the  trick  to  doubt. 
For  here  is  one  certainest  thing: 

No  doubt,  no  need  of  reasoning. 
So  too 
This  much  truth  he  could  not  see: 

Aught  other  is  Divinity 
Than  what  I  touch  or  think  or  see, 

Neither  false  in  it  nor  true. 
Neither  good  in  it  nor  bad, 

Nor  sorrow  nor  being  glad, 
But  other  something — who  knows  what 

To  compass  endlessness  by  thought? 
Give  I  an  attribute  to  God, 

Any  part  of  man  or  pod, 
I  make  Him  human.  Him  I  prefine. 

Nor  make  me,  one  whit  more,  divine. 
So  on  he  pried  for  what  is  true: 

The  sun  might  be  a  breath  of  cold 
If  its  lungs  were  only  gold. 

Or  under  lip  a  little  blue! 
Petrarch  sounded  for  what  was  true 

In  himself,  not  in  worlds  or  you. 
So  only  doubled  on  the  clue. 

So  aimed  my  friend,  writing  his  book, 
Always  the  empty-bottle-look 


Man  or  Book  ?  373 

Of  one  eye  sighted  on  one  star 
To  take  light  in,  hedge  it  about, 

Never  to  wink  an  atom  out, 
Most  as  most  mortals  are! 

One  sun-born  morning  it  was, 

Under  his  cherry-ball  haws, 

A  song  came  down  from  his  poon-tree  top, 

A  thrasher's  voice,  such  chant  in  his  crop 

I  only  knew 
He  roused  and  raptured  me  too  and  through. 

There  there  was  now  at  his  hand 
One  true-souled  laughingest  girl. 
Such  a  bright  heart  as  could  understand. 
Such  an  eye  as  the  soul  of  a  pearl 

To  rapture  him  too. 
Gifted  to  read  a  man  through  and  through. 

"Show  me  your  book,"  she  said, 
"Your  book  for  the  man  instead, 
I  '11  drink  it  from  cover  to  cover, 
I  love  a  book  like  a  lover — 
Let  me  look  to  see 
If  the  book  or  the  man  count  most  with  me. 

"Ah,  so,  God  is  that  or  this. 
Something  to  gain  or  to  miss! 
You  play  your  game  for  an  end  in  view, 
Nor  count  the  end  or  the  gain  in  you — 

The  most  you  would  do 
Is  make  life  yield  its  most  to  you. 

"And  what  you  would  give,  you  say, 
Is  what  you  must  for  a  way 


374  Man  or  Book  ? 

To  square  accounts,  so  you  pay  your  pay 
To  purchase  God's  Kingdom  one  fine  day, 

While  you  never  knew 
The  Kingdom  of  God  is  the  God  in  you. 

"You  glorify  God,  you  think, 
By  candle  or  prayer-book  wink, 
As  if  it  were  not  nobler  you  star 
Yourself  for  the  best  of  you  you  are 

To  be  large  and  true, 
God,  in  the  end,  to  glorify  you; 

"You  to  be  man  nor  snivel. 

Never  fear  of  God  or  Devil, 

Love  only,  high  love  of  truth  and  man 

For  mastership  by  the  spirit-plan 

To  be  highest  true — 
There  's  the  whole  noblest  great  God  in  you ! 

"You  in  your  book  take  your  pinch 
Of  what  you  may  never  know. 
You  try  to  platoon  soul  by  the  inch, 
March  it  one  way  as  the  senses  go, 

So  you  never  see 
Soul  is  one  deep  divinity. 

"What  would  you  say  were  better, 
Man  to  go  free  as  a  bird 
To  leap  and  sing  as  winds  are  stirred. 
Or  tuck  his  neck  in  a  fetter 
To  coddle  his  fear, 
Nor  go  to  be  greater  ever  or  freer? 

"Such  is  your  book — as  I  say, 
Never  the  throb  of  a  lay 


Man  or  Book  ?  375 

Of  the  heart;  yet  nought  flies  above 
This  deep  everlasting  human  love 

To  model  a  soul 
Shall  compass  the  keenest  supremest  whole. 

"Greater  the  man  than  the  book, 
Now  that  I  've  taken  my  look ! 
Such  were  the  ring  of  my  maiden  voice 
Had  I  my  way,  could  I  take  my  choice, 

Nor  another  look 
For  Truth  in  your  one-eyed  bottle-book. 

"Up  and  away  with  me  now 

To  tune  two  hearts  to  one  song 

Of  the  thrasher  that  pipes  in  his  bough! 

Since  life  is  so  short,  let  love  be  long 

As  all  hope  may  see, 
While  I  sing  of  only  my  love  of  thee!" 


WILY  SMILEY 


He  was  one  trick-smiler,  this  Smiley, 

Our  Wily; 
Had  his  way  with  women  well  in  hand; 
No  new  trick  was  contraband 

Which  could  capture — 

His  task  was  easy : 
Only  to  be  light  and  breezy 

To  peddle  rapture 
To  women — he  knew  their  kink: 
Much  to  say,  little  to  think. 


II 


By  sun-up  I  saw  him  pass 

To  and  fro 
Like  a  shuttle  before  a  looking-glass 

For  fashion  so 
To  try  and  capture  his  own  smile, 

Yet  all  the  while 
He  knew  she  waited,  sun-up  too, 
To  be  captured — what  else  la}-  in  view, 
What  else,  'faith,  should  any  girl  do 

In  such  a  smile  ? 
376 


Wily  Smiley  377 

III 

Once  I  saw  him  take  an  air 

Of  consequence 

Of  a  suffragan, 
Till  I  began  to  ask  the  where 

And  the  whence 

Of  such  a  man — 
Buttons  mainly,  shrimp  tie 
To  lasso  women,  to  draw  their  sigh, 
Yet  for  power,  king  above  style, 
Was  his  smile,  his  master-magic  smile 

IV 

To  win — there  's  my  man — 
Win  out,  give  little  as  you  can, 

Was  his  law — 
The  thing  's  worth  smirking  or  whining  for 
So  you  win — 

Better  play  your  smile 

Of  trick  and  guile 
Than  lose  a  point  or  a  girl — 
What  more's  in  Rajahship  or  Earl? 
Smile  is  the  soul  of  a  pearl — 


But  not  of  the  man — 
There  's  the  deep  other  under-smith  than  what 

Tickles  ribs,  prompts  thought 
Of  any  bubble-belly  plan, 
Which  he  comprehended  not. 

Into  a  cheek  of  dimples 
Breaks  my  lake,  snickers,  rimples 


378  Wily  Smiley 

At  a  breeze, 
Yet  is  breathlcssncss  more  than  these, 
Lake  finest,  deepest,  when  most  at  ease. 

VI 

The  one  sweet  maid 
He  aimed  to  take. 
Now  his  plan  was  laid, 
Put  her  heart  at  stake 
Between  him  and  another, 
One  true  outfashioned  nature-brother 
Of  soul,  man-side  straight 
As  star-beams,  heart  as  great 
As  hope,  nor  shift  nor  guile. 
And,  save  he  felt  it,  never  a  smile. 

VII 

Yet  Smiley  took  the  lead; 
A  light  wind  struts  before  a  gale; 
Of  nothing  much  was  there  need 
For  Smiley,  save  to  smile 
Fulsomy  to  never  fail, 
A  trick  as  much  his  habit 
As  the  tail-bob  of  a  rabbit — 
Small  trouble,  you  would  suppose, 
As  flowers  come  and  this  world  goes, 
For  him  to  pluck  his  rose. 

VIII 

The  other  one  there, 
Man-fashion  fair, 
Grew  shy  now  he  saw  circumstance 
Was  come  to  overtop  his  chance 
Of  winning  the  girl — 


Wily  Smiley  379 

Had  yet  to  learn  how  power  which  is  love 
Wins  ever  over  and  above 
Pistareen  grin,  button-jacket, 
Red  feather  racket — 
They  learn  the  power  of  love,  too,  who  lack  it. 

IX 

One  jaspered  afternoon 

Of  a  week  of  June 

Was  a  junket  of  flowers, 

Belle-girls  in  tall  grass, 
Clove  and  trillium  in  bamboo-bowers, 
Flood  of  joy  such  an  afternoon  has 
With — well,  there  now  came  Smiley, 
Smile  on,  unhinging  to  bow 
To  bend  himself  his  style  wily, 
His  lasso-curve  as  he  knew  how ! 


There  Wily  was  in  the  midst  of  them, 
The  polish  of  him  of  a  gem 
Clean  to  the  last  elbow-hem — 

Now  he  was  here,  now  not. 
Thrashed  about  among  them  just 
As  a  bee  thumps  in  a  honey-pot, 

As  needs  he  must 
To  show  power,  show  what  he  could  do 

To  turn  the  heads  of  a  few 
Who  look  a  man  not  once  through  and  through, 

XI 

But  mark  his  shin-style. 
The  wag  of  him,  clam-shell  smile 


380  Wily  Smiley 

Of  mouth  open  wide 

So  they  see  only  pearl  inside, 

Mark  his  tri-button  vest, 
Spit  curls  for  his  level  best 
High-handed  work  of  art 
To  trap  fancy,  hook  the  heart- 
There  was  his  way 
He  took  to  juggling  that  day 


XII 


To  fast-fasten  them,  play  lielord 

By  talking  love — 

The  lie  was  enough, 
Much  as  his  bankrupt  heart  could  aflford- 
Yet  such  men,  oft  in  a  while, 
Get  touched  deeper  than  the  smile, 

As  now  did  Smiley, 
Sly  dog,  yet  not  so  slyly 
But  here  for  once  he  saw 
More  in  one  girl  than  he  bargained  for. 

XIII 

She  too,  in  a  way,  was  caught 
By  his  feather-grace, 
Globird  glitter,  chicken  face. 
As  which  of  them  was  not? — 
While  he,  the  other  one  there, 
Star-beam  straight,  lustrous  fair, 
Kept  to  himself,  could  not  go 
Chance-picking  among  them  all 

At  beck  and  call. 
So  much  he  honored  and  loved  licr  so. 


Wily  Smiley  381 

XIV 

His  day  was  past  and  gone, 

So  he  said, 
This  world  not  worth  looking  on, 

Life  good  as  dead 
And  she  lost  to  him — now  he  saw 
No  world  was  worth  the  angling  for 
And  she  out  of  it — yet  he  could 
Not  sniggle  to  get  her,  if  he  would — 

"Love,"  said  he,  "must  win, 
Or  I  lose,  I  'U  not  play  quip  and  grin," 


XV 


When,  just  by  chance 
Of  cunning  circumstance 

She  caught  his  eye, 
The  large  clean  eye  full  of  good 

As  there  he  stood, 
Arm  'round  her  pet  carob-tree 

Much  as  to  say: 
"Here,  at  least,  I  may  have  my  way, 
Since,  next  to  you,  your  tree 
Has  its  roots  in  the  heart  of  me" — 

XVI 

Which  was  more  than  she  could  brook, 
His  love-lighted  eye  and  sorrow  look, 
And  so 
Right  as  he  was  up  to  go 
To  l^ave  her  there  to  yield 
To  Smile V,  to  leave  the  field 


382  Wily  Smiley 

To  Smiley  who  seemed  to  know 
A  girl's  heart  best, 
As  was  manifest 
The  way  he  had  them  bedevilled  so — 

XVII 

Right  as  he  was  up  to  go 
By  the  stone-wall  gate 
Now  the  hour  was  late, 

Nor  looked  back  to  see  if  she  cared  or  no, 
Sudden  as  one  wild  surprise 
Two  small  hands  from  just  behind 
Came  folded  over  his  eyes 

With — "  Do  you  so  love  to  be  blind? 

Would  you  go  and  not  one  look  to  me? 

Who  so  blind  as  they  that  will  not  see?" 


AMONG  RUINS 


Everything  ends  in  Beauty, 
So  Beauty  alone  survives; 
So  many  hard  hits  at  duty, 
So  many  cycles  of  lives 
All  gone  out,  yet  there  in  you 
They  stand  for  Beauty — so,  too, 
The  farther  they  stretch  away 
Into  some  past  lost  day, 
By  that  much  more  they  hold  to  you 

Their  lost  fine  features,  silky  thought 
Out  of  which  this  soul  is  wrought. 
For  which  you  love  them— so  there 
Is  what  Beauty  they  wrought  in  you, 
Like  nothing  other  for  wondrous  fair, 
You  that  so  love  what  is  fine  and  true. 

II 

I  see  the  moon  as  before, 
A  wheel  of  pinnacles  like  a  chain  of  eyes 

Looking  forevermore 
Where  time  multiplies  and  man  dies — 

I  see  the  clear  cold  sands 

No  time  commands. 
See  Almamon  first,  then  Abulfcda, 
Head  put  straight  as  an  ostrich  feather 
383 


384  Among  Ruins 

Through  the  whitc-cyed  velvet  shine 
For  me,  the  wonder  of  it  mine, 
Mandarin,  orange-columbine 
Till  I  go  to  think  how  they, 
My  other  brothers,  went  their  way 
World-watching,  followed  the  same  moon 
Where  it  played  in  their  lap  of  June, 
Warmed  their  cheek  by  it,  dried   their  tears 
By  the  light  of  it  a  thousand  years 
Before  me — then  the  pale  yellow 
Touches  and  makes  a  new  fellow. 
New  Beauty  down  in  the  soul  of  me — 
Each  grain  of  sand  is  a  dancing  gem 
Now  I  go  to  think  of  them 
Who  were  the  happy  whole  of  me, 
So  as  I  watch  their  same  moon  burn 
And  chill,  I  give  them  back,  in  turn, 

My  heart — There  's  how  I  see 
Other  Beaut}'  yet  to  be, 
Vaster  soul  in  the  soul  of  me ! 

Ill 

Athens  had  once  her  playground  noise 
Of  school-out,  bright  Ionian  boys 

To  the  last  shout  of  free  glee. 
Such  as  breaks  no  more  for  you  or  me ! 

Now  comes  my  parrot-guide, 
Breaks  reverie,  snatches  me  aside 
With:  "These  pillars  once  were  joined, 
Tuscan-work,  Gothic-groined 
Before  Christ — have  a  whiff 
At  the  dripstone  and  ditriglyph — 
This  end  of  a  pylon  will  show 
How  poorly  men  do  now  or  know 


Among  Ruins  385 

As  against  those  Doric  ones — they  knew 

Trick-art,  a  what  to  do, 

As  watch  this  truncated  stair, 

How  yet  it  polishes  the  air 
Into  open  heaven,  yet  none  to  climb, 
As  if  left  for  souls  who  are  gone 
To  take  their  last  certain  step  upon 

Of  a  march  sublime — 

Yon  broken  columns  next  by 

For  fingers  to  point  a  way 
Through  ruin  up  to  permanent  day 

In  a  constant  sky." — 

What  counts  all  of  it  for  me, 

Tholus  or  squinch-arch, 

Save  that  I  may  see 
Through  the  whole  of  it  my  thousand  boys 

A  thousand  years  before  me, 

Now  at  their  laurel-march, 

Now  at  their  school-out  noise, 
Hap-happy  the  way  a  boy  shall  be 
To  be  whole  boy  whole  boy-fully? — 

Then  through  cornice  and  column 

Comes  the  one  thought,  sweet-solemn, 
How  somehow  they  are  one  with  me 
In  spite  of  such  eternity 

Of  years  as  cut  us  apart, 

One  thought,  purpose,  hope,  heart, 

I  bound  to  them  by  more 

Than  broken  post  or  corridor, 

To  wit,  the  common  human  tie 

Which  lingers,  never  to  die. 
And  quick  each  gutter-sill,  each  mold 
Takes  new  form,  Beauty  is  there, 
The  silent  kind,  not  to  be  told, 


386  Among  Ruins 

Soul-secret  love,  keenest  care, 

Each  small  pulse  of  it  so  much 
Above  pencilling  or  touch 

As  soul  is  super-breathful  fair. 


IV 


Old  Miletus  under  lake, 

Not  a  column  to  be  seen — 

Have  a  sail  on  it,  take 

Thought  of  the  Nyanza  green 

And  wave-wash,  face  of  silver  lips 

Where  the  same  sun  dodges  and  dips 

Till  evening — then  the  clear  glass 

Which  will  not  let  a  star-speck  pass, 

But  holds  it  that  you  shall  see 

Sky  taken  down  to  spread 

Above  the  long-gone  dead 

For  Beauty  so  eternally, 

As  if  to  say:  Look  not  for  them  'round 

This  dull  underground. 

The  what  they  thought  or  built 

In  crowstone  or  terrace-tilt 

Where  they  were  once,  to  see  how 

Life  grew  from  dug-out  to  dumping-scow, 

But  over  and  above  all  to  see 

How  they  kept  growing  endlessly, 

Then  think  of  it  what  they  must  be  now! 

Over  each  forgotten  grave 

Tumbles  the  silver  wave 

And  no  heed  of  them  nor  thought. 

How  they  popinjayed  or  wrought, 

Thales  and  Cadmus  and  the  rest 

Who  went  their  way,  did  their  best — 


Among  Ruins  387 

Thus  saith  the  star-lighted  wave: 

Hang  not  about  a  little  grave 

Of  Beginners — they  saw  how 

A  grave  climbs  up  into  tree  and  bough, 

Yet  they  must  climb  to  mightiness, 

The  kind  which  counts  for  less  and  less — 

Wonder  is  if  they  ever  knew 

'T  is  mighty  only  to  be  true — 

So  went  their  way,  I  wonder  where, 

Or  what  direction— the  sky  is  fair 

Of  promise  for  grave  and  bough, 

While  I  wonder  what  they  must  be  now! 


My  Rosalie — alas, 

Came  now  her  turn  to  turn  and  pass 

Beyond  me — I  looked,  yet  none  could  see 

Her  plain  way — She  said  it  should  be 

Likewise  plain  one  day  to  me — 

This  was  her  garden-plot 

Of  pretty  bergamot — 

There  through  the  open  field  was  her  path 

Up  to  the  rose-ousel  rath 

And  her  look-out  bower 

Till  she  took  the  new  wide  way 

Beyond  me — there  now  I  look 

To  find  in  her  salmon-flower, 

In  her  meadow-brook, 

A  trace  of  her,  if  I  may — 

Neither  here  is  she  nor  there 

In  leaf  or  citronella-snare, 

And  the  Beauty  of  her  is  everywhere — 

Not  what  I  may  take  or  touch, 


388  Among  Ruins 

That  's  not  the  best  of  it,  my  friend, 

That  red  lip  which  has  an  end, 

Apricot-cheek  which  I  may  clutch 

To  see  it  one  day  pale 

Like  Spring  does  at  a  flock  of  hail, 

Seeing  how  I  see  otherwise 

Than  blue  just  or  dancing  dew 

For  Beauty  in  those  eyes — 

Somewhat  is  there  which  is  true, 

Marvellous  truth  to  be  trusted  to, 

Which  is  not  moulded  of  dust  and  dew ; 

Love  is  there — all  worlds  above 

And  about  me  make  not  enough 

To  count  one  atomful  of  love; 

Hope  is  there — will  I  find  hope 

Bounded  by  the  Scorpio-scope, 

Lodged  in  a  pot  of  heliotrope? 

Yesterday  she  stood  clear  and  fair 

As  the  sun-ended  air — 

And  now  no  more ! 

I  peek  in  at  her  open  door : 

Her  reed-throated  chaffinch  tunes 

Pseans  of  a  thousand  Junes; 

There  her  goldfish,  her  little  table 

And  room  put  happy-comfortable 

As  if  to  say:  "Don't  go — 

You  see  her  cage-bird  is  in  tune. 

Her  ceiling  keeps  its  zenith-glow. 

And  she  '11  be  back  again  surely  soon!" 

Once  more  now  think  of  those  eyes — 

Is  there  light  enough  or  blue 

In  the  vast  eternal  blue  skies 

To  print  such  another  eye  for  you. 

Such  bobolink  eye  of  hers, 


Among  Ruins  389 

Heart  in  it,  Godful-tnie, 

Where  light  sleeps  while  spirit  stirs? 

So  I  know  Beauty  survives 

Above  planetary  lives 

To  come  again  and  again 

Where  all  else  may  be  vain 

Or  poor  picking. — Summer  is  on ! 

Small  summer  and  my  Rosalie  gone, 

Save  this :  Here  fast  in  the  soul  of  me 

I  have  her  to  stay  the  dole  of  me — 

There  is  the  heart  and  whole  of  me ! 


FOR  EXAMPLE: 

Right  doing  is  the  thing, 

Right  doing  stands  for  king! 
There  's  a  thing  for  you  to  believe, 

A  game  for  you  to  play, 
A  king-card  up  your  sleeve 

For  a  mastodon-way 
To  power.     Take  a  look 

In  the  symposium-book 
Of  stars,  watch  how  they  play 

At  neither  night  nor  day; 
How  they  plunge  and  sputter  for 

Power  to  keep  the  supreme  law 
Of  Beauty,  which  is  power 

To  the  eternal  hour! 
God-like  is  every  sky 

In  its  reaching  high 
To  blossom  into  might 

By  majesty  of  Right, 
Round  on  round  of  worthiness 

Loftier  than  heart  may  guess — 
Nothing  comes  to  less  and  less! 

Right  is  wealth  of  soul. 
Wrong  is  the  zero-goal. 

Poverty-stretch  of  killing  care 
For  each  nothing  which  is  there. 

Evil  has  a  claw 
390 


For  Example  391 

Wholly  hidden  in  the  paw — 

Here  is  how  the  cunning  law 
Worked  out  in  a  case  I  knew 

Of  men  once  who  sought  to  do 
Their  evil-best,  thought  to  win 

By  biting  like  a  moccasin, 
By  serpentining  tried  to  trick    , 

Right  out  of  his  bailiwick, 
Beauty  out  of  her  throne 

In  yonder  crown-jewel  zone. 

Once  were  two  men  of  an  ugly  look: 

Thought  had  a  task  to  cipher  them  out; 

One  wore  a  lip  of  an  ugly  pout, 

The  other  an  eye  like  a  pruning-hook 

To  make  his  way  by  hook  or  crook — 

Robbers  from  youth — I  show  you  the  law 

My  Gospel  drums  and  trumpets  for! 

In  a  cave  these  two  men  hovelled, 

There  like  rats  they  gnawed  and  grovelled 

In  a  hole  gouged  out  of  a  rock 
In  such  way  cunningly  so 

None  ever  saw  them  come  or  go — 

There  they  conjured  to  pick  the  lock 

Of  the  world  below. 

Much  was  the  gold  they  brought 
To  hide  in  their  den; 

Their  way  through  the  world  like  wolves  they  fought. 
While  the  best  of  men 

Fell  prey,  dropped  into  their  clutch 
For  little  or  much — 

Thieves  and  thugs  were  there  never  such. 


392  For  Example 

Long  as  their  treasure  was  small 

They  lived  in  peace 
To  plunder — such  was  all 

They  looked  to,  their  way  to  increase 
Their  spoil,  as  other  men  lost 

By  each  trick- witted  cabal — 
What  could  it  matter,  the  end  or  cost? 

One  hundred  years  are  gone, 
People  with  them — not  a  thought 

Of  those  days  but  is  clean  forgot — 
Time  tumbles  on  and  on, 

Others  come  and  go, 
Till  wonder  is  men  feel  and  know 

Just  as  they  did  in  the  long  ago. 

A  shepherd  boy  is  caught 

One  early  morning  in  a  storm, 

Makes  the  cave  where  these  robbers  wrought 
To  house  him  and  keep  him  warm. 

When — to  show  how  nothing  dies, 
See  what  marvel  woke  his  eyes 

To  wonderment  and  shock-surprise ! 

Here  in  this  darkest  quoin 

Glistens  their  heap  of  coin; 
Next  by  in  the  after-hold 

Lies  their  mound  of  gold, 
Yellow-bright  as  sun  and  moon, 

Lasting  as  each  granite  dune. 
Thousands  of  ducats  multifold. 

Two  skeletons,  each  fast  to  the  other 

By  jaw-bite,  not  as  brother  to  brother. 


For  Example  393 

Fingers  clinched  in  each  other's  eyes 

To  tear  the  brain  out  once  was  there, 

Each  at  the  other's  mercy  Hes 

In  clutches  of  death,  brother  to  brother, 

Right  where  each  one  killed  the  other! 

How  they  fought  you  could  see, 
Like  wild  beasts,  each  his  mastiff-hold 

On  his  brother's  throat,  never  plea 
For  life — they  fought  for  their  heap  of  gold 

Tooth  and  nail  unto  death. 
Each  one  to  stop  his  brother's  breath 

For  loot-heap,  nor  loose  his  hold. 

There  they  lie  to  grin  at  each  other, 

Skull  and  bones  of  each  blasted  brother, 

While  next  beside  them  each  heap  of  gold 
Knew  cunning  enough  to  slip  their  hold! 

Let  him  be  mighty  to  overbold 

For  conquest  to  gripple  what  he  can. 

What  is  there  of  wrong  shall  profit  a  man? 


DEAD 

Not  what  he  gained,  but  what  he  gave  was  his, 
His  best  he  had; 

What  may  a  man  give  the  world  more  than  this, 
Or  what  is  there  else  he  shall  keep 
When  he  drops  off  to  sleep?  * 

You  saw  him  drop,  you  and  you, 

Here  to  these  flags  where  your  world  went  by 

And  would  not  look — they  knew  and  still  they  knew 

How  he  must  wilt  by  the  way  to  die, 

While  over  the  lips  of  him  silence  would  reign 

For  your  world  that  went  sneaking  by. 

You  saw  his  left  cheek  flush  and  pale 
Like  a  day  does  just  as  it  feels  the  dark. 
Fingers  unloose,  eye-light  fail ; 
You  saw  how  death  had  made  him  a  mark — 
What  hand  was  put  out  to  pillow  his  head 
Where  stones  snap  back  with  a  bark? 

What  did  he  when  he  was  a  child 

But  pull  at  tulips,  like  any  of  you, 

His  eye-laugh  when  some  garden  smiled, 

Leaping  to  make  the  most  of  it  too? 

How  your  world  is  locked  out  if  soul  be  free 

To  be  new  like  tulips  are  new! 

394 


Dead  395 

Did  you  think  him  different  from  you, 

Or  otherwise  so  he  could  not  feel? 

Fine  sense,  do  you  hold,  was  made  for  few, 

The  rest  must  thrive  under  a  heel? 

How  comes  it  then,  now  as  you  see,  he  could  die 

Like  a  man,  such  lips  under  seal? 

Does  he  lack  soul  who  could  stand 

Like  a  God  in  his  place,  face  up  to  die, 

None  about  him  to  take  his  hand, 

No  look  save  one  from  a  growling  sky, 

The  whole  pride  of  him  brooched  like  a  jewel  there 

As  your  world  went  snivelling  by? 

Look  to  the  face,  the  fine  mild  face. 

Lip  lowered,  a  smile  left  to  play  at  each  cheek, 

As  if  the  spirit,  on  leaving  its  place, 

Saw  some  new  world  and  wanted  to  speak! 

Any  small  meanness  there  as  he  lies 

Eyes  up,  any  look  of  him  weak? 

Look  to  the  hand,  too,  open  wide 

Put  out  to  you  as  if  to  say : 

"No  malice  I  bear  to  the  other  side; 

We  shall  get  together  again  one  day, 

For  the  thing  must  come  'round  which  heart  points  out 

To  be  best  in  the  hard  long  way. 

"We  had  our  task,  both  you  and  I: 
I  took  to  right  by  my  mighty  will; 
What  matters  what  way  I  take  to  die, 
A  wife's  green  satin  lap  at  her  windowsill, 
Blood-orange  opals  to  finger  my  brow. 
Or  this-  curb  for  pillow  of  chill? 


39^  Dead 

"  Do  ribbon-strings  tie  by  a  knot 

Fine  inside  soul  to  an  outside  worth 

Now  I  go,  by  way  of  our  common  lot, 

To  the  green  satin  lap  of  the  earth? 

Did  you  think  the  soul  of  me,  put  to  the  test, 

Gathers  death  and  not  a  new  birth? 

"My  whole  first  worth  from  start  to  last. 

The  best  there  was  of  me,  that  I  gave; 

My  fastened  grip  on  one  manful  past 

Was  all  I  could  look  to  to  hope  to  save; 

What  more  may  they  think  of  to  have  and  to  hold 

Who  stoop  to  look  into  a  grave?" 

That  would  he  say  if  he  could  speak; 

Take  the  hand  held  but  to  you,  wish  him  luck, 

His  boy-smile  there  still  stuck  to  his  cheek. 

The  thin  chin  turned  up  into  pluck! 

Make  the  most  of  him,  just  as  he  is — I  know 

His  way  if  your  hour  had  been  struck. 

As  youth  came  on,  one  breast  of  strength, 
The  open  warm  hand — I  knew  that  too — 
Never  a  day  too  wide  for  its  length. 
Nothing  too  much  for  the  will  to  do, 
I  have  seen  him  stand  by  to  fight  like  a  lynx 
For  the  thing  that  was  kind  and  true. 

One  night — how  well  I  remember 
How  the  wind,  like  a  leopard's  claw,  struck  through 
While  trying  to  run  away  from  December — 
One  lay,  like  he  lies  now,  part  blue, 
Part  white — frost  and  depth  were  out  with  their  colors- 
One  storm-waif,  a  white  grave  in  view; 


Dead  397 

Snow  was  wrapping  him  'round  at  last — 

Night  was  deep  like  the  drifts — an  end  was  near — 

His  sleep  was  calm,  each  fist  was  fast, 

One  little  low  breath,  the  wax- white  ear, 

As  he,  whom  you  stand  there  to  doubt  and  shun, 

Drew  to  the  boy,  did  his  best  to  hear 

If  any  breath  of  a  soul  was  there, 
Put  half  his  cloak  to  him,  caught  his  wrists, 
Took  him  close  in  arms — there  's  life  to  share 
With  a  brother-world  when  love  insists — 
There  he  held  fast  to  him  into  his  night 
Of  battles  with  biting  mists 

Till  he  too,  now  beckoned  by  sleep, 
Dropped  his  whole  thought  before  he  knew, 
As  quick  the  storm  had  him  hard  in  keep. 
Pinned  him  down  where  the  death-breath  flew, 
Where  they  were  found  next  day,  breast  to  breast, 
With  life  enough  left  for  the  two. 

Now  came  his  love-days,  all  at  once, 
But  shy,  like  arbutus  creeps  through  green 
Low  mushroom  country,  life  for  the  nonce, 
Half  a  low  blush  partly  seen — 
Hark  how  the  best  of  him  only  dealt 
Death  to  such  days  as  might  have  been! 

He  loved  the  girl,  she  loved  him  too; 

They  were  as  what  would  be  called  one  hope 

Which  nought  could  come  between,  put  in  two. 

Like  sweet  and  its  breath  of  heliotrope ; 

One  place  they  found  in  the  world  at  last, 

But  all  outside  of  his  horoscope. 


398  Dead 

One  day,  now  Fall  was  come  again 

To  put  new  snow-caps  where  bells  had  been, 

Came  one  brother-friend  to  look  in  vain 

For  some  right  way  he  could  come  between 

To  claim  the  girl,  since  he  loved  her  too,  worse  luck. 

With  love  which  was  young  and  keen. 

So  pined  most  like  an  aspen  leaf 
Quivers  to  shrivel  'twixt  wind  and  sun; 
He  was  not  strong  to  butt  against  a  grief 
Like  him  who  lies  here,  his  heart-work  done. 
Who  knew  a  deep  difference  between  the  two, 
What  one  would  seek,  the  other  shun. 

He  knew  all  men  measured  not  the  same ; 

Half  weakness  were  some,  others  all  strong; 

Your  fern  will  go  down  in  a  little  flame. 

Great  hazel  hang  on  to  fight  it  long; 

How  the  boy-heart  would  break  if  he  lost  the  girl! 

How  the  way  of  this  world  was  wrong! 

So,  too,  he  could  not  look  to  see 

His  fine  young  friend  with  a  rough  old  care 

To  hawk-moth  the  cheek  where  the  rose  should  be. 

Put  the  cross- wrinkles  everywhere; 

What  counted  it,  too,  what  he  gained,  what  he  lost, 

So  the  best  of  all  love  was  there. 

Love  which  has  nought  to  gain. 

But  the  whole  best  side  of  life  to  lose, 

Would  not  turn  back  to  your  world  again 

For  all  it  has  to  give,  refuse, 

Since  the  way  is  straight  out  beyond,  nor  back, 

And  loss  has  an  infinite  use. 


Dead  399 

So  spake  he  to  his  friend  Hke  this: 

"Take  the  girl,  tell  her  your  full  young  heart; 

She  shall  learn  love  may  not  go  amiss; 

Trust  all  to  me  to  perform  my  part ; 

She  shall  learn  to  forget  me,  to  put  me  by 

For  you  in  her  change  of  heart." 

As  so  she  did,  for  he  made  it  so 

She  lost  her  love  of  him  day  and  day, 

While  the  friend  stepped  in,  took  never  "No" 

For  answer,  as  over  the  way 

At  yon  gable  stoop  there  they  live  to  love 

As  he  lies  here,  clay  unto  clay. 

I  know  what  your  world  will  say. 

How  he  played  the  fool  and  he  lost  the  game 

Which  they  play  for  what  it  is  worth  to-day, 

Since  the  winding  up  is  all  the  same 

If  a  man  shall  lose  or  win  a  hand, 

So  there  's  only  the  fool  to  blame. 

Ah,  so  your  world  may  know  a  fool 

By  the  game  he  plays  to  a  forfeiture. 

Just  as  wisdom — here  's  your  golden  rule — 

Is  a  trick  to  make  the  profit  sure; 

Who  loses  is  lost,  your  way  you  think, 

Even  in  a  game  of  coverture. 

Yet  think  again — let  us  suppose 

He  kept  the  girl  to  himself — he  knew 

One  heart  would  snap  like  a  wrinkled  rose, 

His  own  pop  out  as  hawk-eyes  do; 

How  white  he  is,  his  face  to  Heaven 

In  the  melt  of  a  pitiless  dew! 


400  Dead 

Suppose  him  to  live  to-day, 

There  with  his  love  at  her  window-sill, 

His  boy-face  friend  to  put  lips  to  clay 

As  he  does  now — what  a  tongue  is  still ! — 

He  would  get  what  your  world  has  to  give  for  love 

Which  blossoms  to  pink  and  fulfil. 

The  boy  will  have  dropped  by  the  way, 
But  what  of  that,  there  are  friends  to  spare; 
The  weak  must  go  so  the  strong  may  stay. 
Nature  's  flat  old  tune  is  everywhere ; 
Just  a  trick  to  survive,  with  a  creed  or  two, 
And  the  soul  of  all  souls  is  there ! 

Is  to  succeed,  to  gain  an  end. 

To  force  such  advantage  where  I  can. 

To  play  my  game,  neither  fool  nor  friend, 

Life's  best  soul-portion  of  its  plan? 

Then  were  the  chipmunk  mightier  than  its  God, 

This  world  were  greater  than  the  man ! 

Is  the  world  so  much,  in  any  sense 

So  fair  or  great  that  spirit  is  filled 

By  a  purpose  planned  in  the  present  tense 

And  all  is  well  when  the  lip  is  stilled? 

Yet  here  is  a  soul — how  he  stares  at  the  stars — 

Which  your  world  could  never  have  filled. 

He  took  his  place  where  cross-roads  crook 
Like  an  elbow  which  runs  to  hand  and  spall; 
Either  way  is  right,  nor  he  stopped  to  look, 
Both  lead  where  power  in  the  man  is  all, 
And  your  profit  only  a  spit  of  wind — 
How  the  ways  of  the  world  are  small! 


Dead  401 

Ah,  I  see,  he  is  poor  to-day. 
The  shank  there  is  lean,  the  boot  boiled  out; 
You  '11  have  to  bury  him,  he  cannot  pay; 
Somewhat  was  wrong  in  his  make,  no  doubt; 
Thumb-eyed,  may  be,  or  stunt,  or  mickle  worse, 
One  go-lucky  unlucky  lout 

Who  put  his  price  on  life  too  low, 
Undervalued  things  which  make  for  power. 
Cast  his  lot  by  chance,  let  chances  go. 
Played  fast  and  loose  with  the  chain-shot  hour, 
So  nought  is  left  by  him  men  may  take 
For  gold,  which  is  your  kind  of  power. 

You  wrong  him  deep  as  hell ! 

He  starved  his  throat  that  the  rest  might  stay, 

Could  not  hold  to  one  silver  shell. 

The  whole  price  of  his  troubleful  day. 

If  a  brother  once  stepped  to  the  curb  to  drop 

To  the  street-pit  over  the  way. 

So  he  ended  as  he  began. 

Himself  left  out  when  profit  came, 

Which  may  not  be  Genius,  yet  is  it  Man, 

While  right  there  is  your  coin  in  a  game 

Which  is  played  for  an  empty  soul,  pretty  much. 

Or  a  life-size  hole  in  a  frame — 

As  here  he  is — not  once  he  spoke. 

He  could  not  have  gone  another  pace 

For  love  of  God  or  to  dodge  the  stroke. 

Not  for  love  of  his  climbing  race. 

As  witness  the  heart  of  him  still  hanging  back 

Like  stars  in  his  evening  face. 


402  Dead 

Peace,  then,  and  good  will  to  the  boy! 

He  built  in  the  soul  with  world  left  out, 

And  what  has  been  built  which  Gods  destroy? 

This  day  one  sure  way  has  come  about 

For  one  who  not  once  tried  to  escape. 

One  way  straight  up  and  out 

And  above  and  beyond  it  here. 
This  earth  for  one  stepping-off  place  at  best, 
And  we  will  look  back  to  him,  year  on  year, 
The  love  he  gave  with  his  wide  eyes  west, 
To  wonder  and  wish  him  well  where  he  goes 
To  new  power  and  peace  with  the  rest. 


KNOW  THY  PHYLLIS 

Take  it  for  fact  and  I  tell  you  this 

Of  this  one  girl, 
One  pretty  plucky-minded  miss 

Of  lock  and  curl 
And  lip  and  eye  and  cheek  and  chatter 
Which  spared  a  man  any  thought  to  flatter. 

Often  a  quiet  evening  and  he, 

Her  bullfinch  man, 
Looking  his  mortal  best  he  could  be, 

Would  fetch  his  plan 
For  a  drive  to  take  her  by  moon 
The  Jew-jog  road  for  a  taste  of  June. 

So  truly  she  put  her  trust  in  him, 

Her  featherly  man, 
Never  she  thought,  'though  day  grew  dim. 

Of  his  subtle  plan 
To  get  her  to  going  his  way 
Of  the  wild  jump  and  tigerish  play. 

More  was  to  think  of  than  she  could  know 

In  her  short  life. 
How  not  all  men,  as  men  come  and  go, 

Will  take  to  wife, 
But  rather,  just  for  dash  and  fling. 
Would  snatch  at  the  kiss,  yet  keep  the  ring 
403 


404  Know  Thy  Phyllis 

Such  a  night  it  was  as  I  know  how 
The  moon  was  out 
Like  a  sickle  to  hook  and  reap,  when  now 
Came  scowl  and  pout 
To  change  his  face  to  animal-play 
Once  he  saw  he  was  not  to  have  his  way. 

Fifteen  miles  from  home  for  fair! 

The  fields  stood  thick 
In  meadow-rue  among  moonbeams  there 

To  help  him  trick 
To  try  to  snare,  by  his  spiderly  art, 
The  heavenliness  of  her  clean  young  heart. 

"Life  is  a  kiss,  and  then  we  are  gone," 

He  said  to  her. 
Right  where  the  dew-shine  was  being  bom 

In  crowfoot  and  fir; 
"Let  us  take  to  the  woods  lest  we  miss 
Of  making  the  most  of  life  and  its  kiss!" 

"I  shall  not  stir,"  came  the  sharp  quick  word 

For  sudden  shock, 
As  if  a  soul's  very  voice  were  heard 

In  some  solid  rock! 
"Make  you  the  most  of  it,  my  friend, 
But  I  do  not  stir  from  this  carriage-end!" 

"Ah  so!"  said  he.     "Then  take  you  my  word 

For  lordly  true : 
If  you  will  not  stir,  then  you  shall  be  stirred, 

Shall  be  forced  to  do 
My  will,  for  I  am  master  by  right 
Of  my  ripe  red  heart  and  your  lips  in  sight; 


Know  Thy  Phyllis  405 

"For  look — refuse  to  go  with  me  now 

To  yonder  wood 
Where  the  owl  keeps  watch  through  his  cedar  bougli 

While  the  quail  is  wooed, 
And  by  my  stars  in  yonder  dome 
I  leave  you  here  and  you  foot  it  home!" 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  put  it  so,  why  so," 

She  replied, 
"There  's  only  for  me  to  yield  and  go, 

Power  's  on  your  side ! 
Foolish  it  were  that  I  try  to  do 
Other  than  follow  and  fellow  you!" 

So  said,  my  gentleman  now  leaps  out, 

Will  hitch  his  horse, 
Never  the  trifle  end  of  a  doubt 

She  means,  of  course. 
To  follow  close  to  his  beck  and  hail 
As  now  he  climbs  for  the  martingale, 

When — sudden-sharp  as  a  flash. 

Whip  once  in  hand, 
Both  reins  she  plucks  and  is  off  at  a  dash 

He  could  understand. 
While  by  the  stars  in  yonder  dome 
There  my  rare  gentleman  footed  it  home! 


ESTO  PERPETUA 

The  blind  can  feel  their  way, 

And  'though  I  could  not  see, 

Somehow  I  felt  she  cared  for  me 

That  long  autumn-field  day 

I  waited  to  know  what  she  would  say 

Of  my  heatherbell, 

Of  my  bosom-spell 

Of  thought  for  her — well, 

I  waited  so  long — she  said  she  would  come — 

Quail  and  cricket  put  pipe  and  drum 
To  the  wind  to  get  their  bubble-hum 

Quite  as  if  they  knew  she  would  come 
And  I  could  wonder  and  keep  dumb — 
There  I  waited  now 
By  her  olive-bough, 
Wondered  when  and  how 

She  would  come.     I  know  how  you  think. 

How  only  what  I  may  see  or  touch 
Makes  this  life  I  have  worth  a  wink, 

And  so  you  value  it  for  much 
Just  by  your  swallow  of  sight  and  touch. 
For  the  tripe  you  bite, 
For  your  drink  of  light, 
For  the  sign  in  sight ! 
406 


Esto  Perpetua  407 

But  why  not  this  other  thinking  too : 

Flesh  and  blood  make  the  least  of  you, 
Puff  and  smut  and  beast  of  you, 

While  what  is  of  you  for  best, 
Great  heart,  deep  spirit,  and  the  rest, 
Keep  dodging  your  clutch 
And  sight  and  touch 
And  prison-hutch. 

Soul  is  not  tied  to  a  tree. 

Nor  more  is  it  tied  to  you,  my  friend, 
Looks  to  more  to  breathe  and  be. 

Is  not  concerned  about  any  end. 
Only  this  wisdom  to  comprehend: 
To  be  what  is  great. 
And  at  any  rate 
To  dare  any  fate! 

Somewhat  such  way  I  was  thinking  then. 

Was  catching  at  flower-spikes  where  they  grew 
Lilliputian  patch-wings  in  blue, 

Quite  that  way  I  was  thinking,  when 
Far  beyond  me  my  chorus- wren 

Seemed  to  make  his  bed 
In  the  overhead 
Where  the  sim  was  red. 

In  such  a  deep  cloud  where  he  flew, 

Gold  and  emerald  'round  him  grew 
Till  he  grew  gold  and  emerald  too, 

Took  what  was  fine  of  the  sky, 
Saffron  to  azalia  dye, 

Coiled  his  lofty  scroll 
'Round  the  purple  pole 
Like  a  flight  of  soul ! 


4o8  Esto  Perpetua 

Came  he  so  sailing  along, 

Wing  put  out  like  a  timid  hand 
As  if  to  feel  of  such  new  cloud-land 

Jf  he  might  light  on  the  silver  prong, 
Drop  me  his  world  of  perfect  song 
As  I  looked  his  way, 
Watched  him  rise  and  play 
In  his  pompous  day, 

Saw  he  was  aiming  to  come  to  me, 
For  sooner  than  I  could  think 
There  he  hung  in  my  olive-tree, 

All  the  while  like  a  tiny  link 
Between  his  sky  overhead  and  me, 
And  as  if  to  say 
I  should  have  my  play 
At  his  sky  one  day. 

There  now  there  lay  at  my  feet 

One  small  garden-bed  which  grew 
Clethra  in  meadowsweet 

Where  she  lay  whom  I  once  knew 
To  be  so  sweet  and  perfect  too! — 
There  my  wren  had  dropped 
Where  her  flowers  were  propped 
And  his  song  was  stopped; 

Kept  his  hold,  and  he  would  not  stir 

From  his  flower  he  held  to  above  her  head, 
While  I  thought,  could  it  be  the  soul  of  her 
Come  again  to  be  with  the  dead, 
To  show  to  me  there 
How  her  soul  was  fair 
As  my  bird  in  air? 


Esto  Perpetua  409 

Then  off  again  to  his  sky 

To  prove  to  me  soul  is  high, 
Two  souls  in  one,  just  she  and  I, 

To  point  me  the  way  she  went, 
Bright  Heaven  above  it  bent 

For  my  endless  Flight 

Where  the  way  is  Height, 

Where  the  gain  is  Might. 

Could  I  be  waiting  for  her? — my  wren 
Sang  never  and  never  again ! 
Emerald  and  gold  in  apogee 

Pointed  where  she  waited  for  me! 
All  power  is  to  reach  to  to  be 
Was  the  thing  I  said 
As  the  dawn  grew  red 
Just  above  her  bed. 


A  ROBBER 


Give  us  a  breeze,  you  pulpitarian, 

Of  your  second  century  thought! 
Tell  us  how  you  laid  your  plan 

So  you  whistled  and  God  wrought! 
Tell  us  what  you  gain  by  bringing 

Man  to  his  knees,  to  qualm-singing, 
To  bondage  of  thought,  your  under-study 

To  swallow  your  clap-trap  of  luddy-fuddy! 
Will  you,  by  squatting  at  an  altar. 

By  poking  your  head  in  a  halter. 
Think  to  please  any  God? 

Will  you  look  up  to  whine 
From  a  lap  you  call  divine? 

Will  you  look  up  to  wheedle, 
Will  you  look  down  to  tweedle 

With  the  God's  mightiness  in  you. 
Try  to  doubt  of  your  power  to  grow 

The  way  the  universes  go. 
Build  you  your  kind  of  God  for  master 

That  shall  put  you  fast  in  plaster, 
To  not  be  what  you  nature  to  be, 

Part  of  that  same  divinity 

To  not  whimper,  to  not  be  cowed, 

But  high  God-like,  soul-endowed 
To  put  force  against  force  to  do 

What  is  noblemost  of  you 
410 


A  Robber  411 

By  free  play  and  a  free  hand, 

All  your  power  at  your  command, 
No  underdora,  nor  any  knuckling 

To  Power,  nor  any  truckling 
To  any  God  for  favor. 

For  fear,  no  hand  to  quaver, 
But  force-foremost  to  make  of  you 

Match- work  to  yonder  gold  and  blue? 
To  please  a  God  you  shall  be  a  God 

Out  to  the  rounded  period! 
But  Gods  ne'er  worship,  they  only  love, 

Which  is  God-fashioned  great  enough 
For  man,  his  love  to  be  great 

As  love  is,  he  to  mould  his  fate 
To  overpower  and  dominate 

What  Powers  are  lined  against  him; 
Man  to  be — see  my  truth  is  this — 

Great  as  all  greatness  in  hi^n  is 
To  climb  to  his  best  and  most 

For  not  a  thought  of  God  or  Ghost, 
But  only  for  love  of  what 

Makes  for  power  in  the  soul  of  him 
To  capture  the  highest  whole  of  him. 

He  to  be  ever  mastered  not. 
He  his  own  God  and  soul  and  thought ! 

Wherefore  do  men  love  to  be  unsouled, 

To  be  God-governed  and  so  controlled 
They  shall  bend  double  to  break  in  two 

As  wind-swept  grasses  do? 
Shall  man  ne'er  play  the  man, 

Shall  man  ne'er  play  the  God 
To  all  utmost  in  him  he  can. 

Nor  humble  him  a  grunt  or  a  nod? 


412  A  Robber 

God  rules  your  world,  you  say, 

So  you  noodle  and  pray, 
Nor  see  all  iron  Law  there  to  rule  it — 

Snub  you  the  Law  once,  try  to  fool  it 
And  you  trap  one  faet,  my  king-word  true: 

Wrong  's  to  righten,  there 's  a  thing  to  do 
Will  let  you  think  a  thing  or  two! 

Not  down  to  your  knees 

Any  God  to  please, 
But  high  as  your  meridian, 

You  for  masterpiece,  God  and  man 
To  grow  to  more  soul  to  see 

Life  's  beyond  life  eternally. 


II 


In  Lombardy  this  tale  is  told, 

And  the  tale  is  old, 
Yet  everywhere  to  me  and  you 

Truth  is  both  old  and  new, 
So  right  it  is  I  give  it  you 

For  the  way  it  is  told 
For  solemn  true. 

Once  in  one  swamp-side  hut 

Lived  a  robber,  and  but 
For  what  cute  cunning  he  took 

To  dodge  your  dog  and  my  hook, 
The  jail-bells  had  been  ringing. 

The  hangman  had  had  him  swinging; 

A  robber  rough  uncouth, 
Bold-eyed  from  youth, 


A  Robber  413 

The  claw-foot  of  a  cat, 

Bom  to  bite  his  way  like  a  rat, 
Nor  good  he  meant  to  any, 

But  meant  he  wrong  to  many. 

In  among  his  mountains — 

They  send  their  trees  like  fountains 
Of  flowers  to  a  yellow  blow 

Of  dew-drop  in  aloe  glow — 
He  is  driven  to  the  valley-fiap-end 

For  refuge,  and  never  a  friend 

Nor  rest — each  way  he  is  hurled 

As  dust  is  blown  about  the  world, 

Yet  drops  back  again  to  earth 

To  prove  you  the  dust  has  worth — 

Slinked  to  wince  like  a  mariput 
For  fear  in  his  mud-heap  hut. 

People  came  and  went 

Ever  the  world  over  so. 
Nor  thought  to  meet  his  grapplement 

And  club,  to  take  his  blow, 
To  feel  his  fingers  at  their  throat 

To  pinch  their  breath  out  and  last  groat. 

Now  is  a  morning  of  spring; 

The  wheatear,  just  for  love  of  the  thing, 
Sends  his  song  to  a  pinnacle-ring. 

The  place  is  wild  in  wild-flower  braid 
As  any  Heaven  could  be  made. 

The  year  is  in  dress-parade. 

"Now  I  have  you  in  my  hold" 

Shouts  robber  to  Jew,  "hands  up, 


414  A  Robber 

Unshovcl  your  pockets  of  gold, 

Or  dig  your  ditch  to  die  like  a  pup 

And  no  quarter,  this  very  spot," 

As  he  covers  his  man  by  threat  and  shot ! 

Small  parleying  of  any  sort! 

Diplomatism  is  cut  short 
For  once  for  my  roadside  chap 

Stock  still,  his  life  in  a  trap, 
Nor  more  for  him  to  do  or  know 

Than  hand  his  gold  out,  whether  or  no. 

On  goes  the  robber  on  his  way, 

Thinks  him  rich  and  nought  to  pay, 
When,  of  a  sudden,  ahead 

Stalks  a  man,  half  alive,  half  dead, 
Lip  unbottoned,  step  unsure 

As  the  face  of  him  is  white  and  poor. 

"Friend,  but  you  look  undone," 

Quoth  the  robber,  "you  look  as  one 

Unfed  for  this  many  a  day. 

You  in  your  pelt  and  rag-array, 

Inside  out  as  your  pockets, 

Your  closing  eyes  in  their  sunken  sockets. 

"Here,  take  this  gold  (and  he  gave  him  all). 
Have  away  to  an  inn  to  kill 

Fatted  calf,  stuff  rib  and  caul. 

Line  your  hide  to  the  ample  fill 

To  drive  off  wolf  and  cold, 

Make  the  most  of  this  bag  of  gold!" 

Nor  sooner  said  than  he  was  gone! 

At  daybreak  on  the  next  day  morn 


A  Robber  415 

Our  guest  at  the  inn  is  taken 

For  having,  just  the  day  before, 
Robbed  the  Jew  of  his  gold  in  store 

— What  Law  could  be  mistaken? — 

Are  there  not  strapped  to  his  loins. 

By  careful  count,  just  the  number  of  coins 

Our  Jew  has  lost  to  a  louis  d'or 

In  the  same  spot  on  the  day  before? 

What  more  's  to  make  a  question  of? 

There  *s  all  proof  and  perfect  enough! 

Months  have  gone  their  certain  way 

Till  now  there  comes  a  day 
My  man  is  brought  to  court  to  say 

Wherefore  he  should  not  be  sent 
For  life  to  damned  imprisonment 

For  looting  with  hell's  intent! 

All  goes  against  him,  to  wit, 

The 'Jew's  gold,  every  louis  of  it 
Found  on  him,  he  himself  found 

At  the  same  hour  plump  on  the  ground 
Where  such  rough  pillage  was  done — 

What  could  be  clearer  below  the  sun? 

Now  is  the  Court  about  to  say 

Sentence  on  him  the  down-hill  way, 

When,  ere  the  word  could  be  said. 

Like  as  one  just  come  from  the  dead, 

Bold  as  Truth  to  the  last  resort. 

Stands  the  robber  there  pat  in  court: 

"I  'm  your  man!     Free  that  man  there! 
Never  he  robbed  the  Jew  a  hair, 


41 6  A  Robber 

But  I,  I  plundered  this  Jew 

As  God  lives  and  the  truth  is  true, 

As  there  he  stands  to  tell  you  how 

He  knows  me  and  my  mask  on  now! 

"Came  this  poor  devil  to  a  stop; 

I  could  ne'er  stand  to  sec  him  drop 
And  my  pouch  bellied  with  gold, 

He  on  his  way  to  wolves  and  cold ! 
Even  so,  as  there  he  stands  poor  and  pale, 

By  Heaven  he  shall  not  go  to  jail!" 

So  took  the  sentence  himself,  half  deserved, 
Nor  whined,  nor  any  little  swerved. 

But  bold  as  Truth  as  he  said  it. 

And  this  Truth  stands  there  to  his  credit, 

As  just  you  look  the  world  over  again : 
There  's  greatness  in  all  kinds  of  men ! 

A  quoddy  in  a  pool  of  sea, 

So  your  blinded  parson  schools, 
Thinks  by  blinking  he  shall  see 

How  a  God  in  a  pike's  eye  rules, 
How  a  leek  to  the  sky  inclines, 

How  a  soul  in  a  thistle  shrines. 
How  a  soul  in  a  robber  shines! 

Yet  see — beyond  your  cream  of  belief 
God  dartles  in  a  vulgar  thief 

To  lift  him  high  above  you. 
You  and  your  Heaven  and  Hellibeloo! 


BOUNTIFUL  CANNY'S  GRANDDAUGHTER 
FROM   DULL  MOOR 

Hostess. 

Ah,  so!  From  Dull  Moor! 
Canny's  daughter, 
The  wool-sorter 
And  sample  boor! 
Honored,  I  vow, 
To  see  you  now ! 
But  who  asked  you  come 
To  my  kettledrum? 
Or  what  will  it  hint 
And  you  have  a  squint 
At  my  guests  inside 
Who  know  your  hide 
Under  that  streak 
Of  paint  at  your  cheek, 
Under  that  spinet 
Of  hustled  hair, 
Ribbons  to  pin  it. 
Fly-combs  in  it 
Like  a  county  fair? 
This  is  nor  day. 
Nor  this  the  hour 
You  to  have  play 
With  people  of  power, 
417 


4i8       Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter 

Your  banner  hair 
In  the  wind  to  sigh 
As  if  soul  were  there 
In  the  mottled  dye, 
Beauty  to  spare 
In  frock  and  eye! 
You  know  your  place 
In  the  world  outside,  i 
So  why  this  face 
Of  painted  pride 
To  storm  my  door, 
You  of  Dull  Moor? 

Guest. 

Scarce  was  needed  an  invitation  that  I  come 

To  your  kettledrum, 
I  the  granddaughter  of  Bountiful  Canny  the  First 

Who  did  his  worst 
To  do  his  first  in  the  world  in  this  generation 

Of  pompous  nation, 
Successfullest  Canny,  my  great-grandfather  for  sure, 

My  Prince  of  Dull  Moor! 

Hostess. 

Better  you  hang  outside 

Where  the  world  is  wide; 

Like  enough  my  narrow  gateway 

Will  not  broaden  to  your  great  way, 

Nor  yet  to  your  great  name, 

To  your  kin  you  claim! 
Have  you  thought  ever  how  wide 

Is  the  world  outside? 


Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter       419 
Guest. 

And  did  you  once  ever  stop  short  to  think, 

By  way  of  surprise, 
What  power  there  is  couched  in  a  buffle's  wink 

To  shut  out  the  skies, 
How  the  thin-ended  toe  of  a  coot  will  put 

A  whole  earth  under  foot? 
See  where  the  brush  of  a  shadow  will  sweep 

The  wild  world  into  sleep, 
How  a  throstle's  eye  in  a  moment's  run 

Swallows  the  sun! 
Little  is  much  in  the  world  sometimes, 

As  there  are  your  chimes, 
And  now  they  thrash  out  a  song  for  joy. 

Shout  the  birth  of  a  boy, 
Or  again  they  solemn  to  cry  instead 

Their  sob  for  the  dead. 
Little  is  much,  while  as  often  much  is  small 

Or  as  nothing  for  all 

You  know  or  think, 
So  have  an  eye  to  the  buffle's  wink! 

Hostess. 

Your  meaning  is  little  plain, 

Your  purpose  unexampled  vain. 
My  kettledrum  the  town's  centre, 

So  on  you  berattle 
Your  twittle-twattle. 

But  you  shall  not  enter! 
You  have  my  word  beside 

That  the  world  is  wide, 
Your  world  outside ! 


420       Bountiful  Canny' s  Granddaughter 

Guest 

So!     Yet  here  is  my  view 

To  be  looking  through : 
Littleness  counts  a  count  or  two, 

Since  littleness  is  divine, 
Far  as  I  may  sec, 

In  the  eye  of  a  jacobine. 
In  the  foot  of  a  bee — 

So  what  of  you,  or  what  of  me. 
Or  what  of  what  you  do. 

And  there  the  microbe  will  bore  you  through? 
In  littleness  is  greatness  over  all, 

Power  to  the  fly-bite  and  there  is  no  small. 
There  is  how  I  am  come 

To  your  kettledrum. 
Mostly  to  show  to  you 

'Tis  superabundant  true. 
This  thing  I  know  by  my  Canny  view. 

Hostess. 
And  your  meaning? — 

Guest. 

Is  easy  gleaning : 

See — this  locket — how  small, 
Scarce  the  bulk  of  a  rifle-ball, 

Yet  the  tiny  modest  thing 
Has  pluck,  has  a  rifle's  ring, 

Has  a  will,  makes  open  and  shut, 
Has  knowledge,  is  full  as  a  nut — 

For  now  I  open  it — look. 
How  it  opens  like  a  book 


Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter       421 

To  show  you,  just  inside, 
My  mother's  look  before  she  died — 

Your  mother  too — her  last  smile 
With  me  everywhere,  everywhile ! 


She  married  a  year  after  your  father  died — 

You  were  jostled  aside 
The  Ash  Wednesday  night  I  was  born — it  was  said 

At  the  time  you  were  dead, 
You  of  an  age,  I  will  say,  four  and  ten. 

Knew  nothing  of  men — 
Your  mother  my  mother,  and  soon  she  died, 

I  the  child  at  her  side. 
Always  she  held  to  it  you  were  dead, 

So  loved  me  instead. 
Gave  me  her  heart,  her  blessing  beside 

That  day  she  died. 
Gave  me  this  locket,  while  just  inside  it, 

As  if  to  hide  it, 
Her  face  was  tucked  like  a  wren  in  a  nest. 

Her  last  bequest 
Of  her  sweet  look,  and  she  circled  the  chain 

'Round  my  neck,  as  again 
And  again  she  charged  that  I  keep  it  there 

In  my  breast,  nor  dare 
Unchain  it  ever — that  way  have  I  kept, 

If  I  woke  or  slept, 
Her  image  and  wishes  and  all  the  rest 

In  my  sorrow-breast. 
One  week  to  a  day  just  after  she  died 

My  father  died  too; 
They  bundled  me  off  to  a  countryside 

To  where  I  grew 


422       Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter 

Among  those  who  knew  not  the  whence  I  came, 

Nor  my  race  and  name, 
Knew  nought  of  me  then,  save  only  this, 

It  was  hit  or  miss 
By  chance  in  my  life,  nothing  for  sure, 

Only  forfeiture 
Of  parent  and  friend  and  land  in  fee 
I  Now  I  grew  to  be 

Girl  enough  in  the  world  to  be  known 

For  being  alone. 
None  to  care  in  the  whole  world  wide 

If  I  lived  or  died. 

Up  I  grew  in  a  careless  way, 

None  to  courage  me  or  to  say 
But  I  could  sprout  in  my  ditch  and  way. 

Take  the  rough  of  it  at  loose  ends, 
Take  kick  and  cuff  and  no  amends — 

I  could  whistle  for  luck  or  friends ! 
Now  came  Canny  the  wool-sorter, 

Choice  Canny  aloof. 
Adopted  me  for  granddaughter, 

Took  me  under  his  roof. 
Made  much  of  me,  and  his  lamb-like  touch 

Of  kindness  was  such 
I  could  not  know  him  for  any  other 

Than  father  and  brother. 
The  two  in  one — so  much  was  he  soulful 

To  see  me  doleful, 
My  way  of  life  he  made  over  new 

And  joyful  too 
As  a  song-swallow  dances  in  the  dew. 

Once  I  asked  him  why  he  thought  of  me. 
Made  aught  of  me : 


Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter       423 

Only  he  said,  in  a  moment's  pause, 

He  knew  how  it  was, 
This  being  left  in  the  world  to  be  grown 

Wholly  alone, 
Not  so  much  as  the  nod  of  a  friend, 

Nor  means  to  an  end 
But  the  single  self  in  him  to  fight 

For  his  share  of  Might — 
So  was  he  sorry  to  see  me  so. 

See  the  way  I  must  go, 
So  took  me  to  him,  and  I  was  his  child, 

I  laughed  when  he  smiled, 
I  joyed  and  I  grew  from  that  day  on 

As  his  flower  in  the  sun. 

What  a  thing  to  be 
Kind  and  true  as  glee! 
What  a  power  to  do 
Your  strongest  in  you 
For  the  good  of  men, 
For  sake  of  what 
Is  reckoned  not 
Gluttonous  gain. 
But  only  to  know 
How  the  world  is  so 
You  shall  have  control 
Of  life  and  soul 
By  your  noble  view,    , 
By  your  good  in  you, 
By  your  good  you  do! 

As  if  by  the  awkward  pitch 

Of  fortune  out  of  a  ditch 
Canny  grew  always  rich. 


42  4       Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter 

Rich  in  great  man-heartedncss, 
Be  the  profit  more  or  less, 

Rich  to  unmatchable  true, 
Unegoed  and  great  he  grew 

As  ever  this  world  dreamed  or  knew — 
Always  his  kind  cottage  door, 

Always  his  little  store 
Free  to  you  or  to  me, 

Life  as  hard  as  life  could  be, 
His  life,  while  yet  how  he  toyed 

With  his  ugly  fate. 
How  he  was  overjoyed 

Of  such  superhuman  state 
To  know  his  life  grew  not  in  vain, 

To  know  he  could  do  his  most 
And  not  a  thought  of  what  he  lost. 

Nor  any  hope  of  any  gain ! 
Kind  Canny,  and  now  gone,  and  yet  part 

Of  this  my  everlasting  heart! 

By  such  a  strange  way  I  was  tossed 

Aside  and  lost; 
With  Canny  were  refuge  and  pottage 

In  his  hungry  cottage. 
Where  I  was  lost  sight  of  and  not  heard  of, 

Never  a  word  of 
Who  I  was,  whence  I  came. 

What  my  name — 
The  while  you  prospered  and  were  known, 

Came  to  your  own. 
Was  heir  to  your  mother,  took  what  she  left. 

While  I  was  bereft. 
And  so  you  came  forward  in  the  world, 

Were  diamonded,  pearled. 


Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter       425 

As  now  at  the  street-edge  bubbles  the  hum 

Of  your  kettledrum, 
And  you  the  Lady  of  Karat  Block 

In  your  orange  frock, 
Your  fingers  in  thimbles  of  silk, 

Your  world  of  that  ilk, 
You  to  the  front  and  upward  pitch, 

I  to  my  ditch ! 

One  thing  strange  in  the  way  was  this: 

Never  I  could  unlock  this  locket — 
There  it  shut  like  a  ledge's  pocket 

As  life  went  on  to  jump  amiss, 
While  do  my  best  to  coax  or  knock  it, 

By  no  cunning  could  I  unlock  it. 
Years  go  by,  page  upon  page, 

I  come  to  my  ripened  age, 
I  find  in  the  world  my  place 

By  Canny,  yet  not  a  trace 
Of  her  sweet  woman-face 

This  locket  has  held  since  she  died, 
And  I  there  crooning  at  her  side. 

Sudden  one  day,  shortly  ago, 
Now  I  toyed  with  the  locket,  playing 

The  cheeks  between  my  fingers,  so, 
Chain  and  locket  lightly  swaying 

As  I  have  done  these  forty  j^ears. 
One  spring  I  touched  I  knew  not  of. 

Just  a  touch  was  sign  enough. 
When  it  opened,  like  two  flaps  of  ears — 

What  's  inside  it?     Now  look, 
See  what  is  fast  in  the  tiny  nook. 

One  smallest  wad  of  paper, 
Your  human  destiny-shaper, 


426       Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter 

A  will — her  last  testament — 
Your  Mother's  will — that  I  meant 

When  I  said  it  could  be  shown 
This  locket  has  a  will  of  its  own ! 

Hostess. 
My  Mother's  will? 

Guest. 

As  life  leaps  and  death  is  still ! 
She  now  believing  you  to  be  dead, 

For  so  it  was  said, 
Gave  everything — there  you  may  read  and  see — 

Everything  to  me. 
Her  manor  and  all  her  heap  of  gold 
'    '     To  have  and  to  hold 
To  my  own  use  of  it  for  ever, 

Nor  thought  of  you  ever 
As  being  anywhere  left  alive 

In  the  world  to  strive, 
But  only  of  me  she  thought,  and  so, 

As  now  you  may  know, 
She  gave  her  share  of  this  world  to  me, 

As  you  read  and  see! 
All  you  now  have  of  castle  or  land 

Falls  to  my  hand. 
Your  pot  of  gold  down  to  each  trinket! 

Who  would  think  it, 
I,  the  castaway  of  Dull  Moor, 

Now  rich  and  you  poor! 
I  that  was  lost,  I  that  am  found. 

Now  wait  to  be  crowned 
Mistress  of  chance,  queen  of  the  dance! — 

Is  it  not  curious  circumstance? 


Bountiful  Canny 's  Granddaughter       427 

Hostess. 

Yet  are  we  sisters — is  't  not  so? 

Will  you  cast  me  to  the  world  away 
As  you  were  cast  once,  nor  care  to  know 

If  I  prosper  any  day, 
Nor  take  of  me  a  thought 

If  I  dwindle  and  prosper  not? 
What  was  mine  is  now  yours,  as  I  see — 

Will  you,  then,  snatch  all  my  world  from  me? 

Guest. 

Your  one  way  of  life  you  know. 

To  hold  what  you  have,  nor  let  go 
The  scrub-end  of  it,  but  only  to  hold 

To  your  trinkets,  your  fathom  of  gold: 
More  than  this  ever  have  you  learned 

Among  your  pleasant  ways  you  turned 
And  pitiness  withered  and  heart  died 

Of  too  much  sun?    Will  my  cyclamen  blow 
In  only  the  sunny  side, 

Never  a  cloud?     That  much  I  know 
By  my  way  I  was  meant  to  go 

To  get  the  storm-side  of  life, 
To  value  the  value  of  strife. 

I  learned  love  of  Canny, 

By  his  love  I  grew; 
His  richnesses  were  many, 

So  was  he  kind  and  true 
As  his  pickings  were  poor 

By  the  ditch  of  Dull  Moor, 
Till  I  saw  what  is  great 

Does  not  come  of  your  state 


42  8       Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter 


Of  lushes  you  thrive  in, 

Your  castle  you  hive  in, 
But  will  wrestle  alone 

As  a  flower  on  the  throne 
Of  its  purple  cone 

Will  angle  to  pitch 
White  stripes  from  a  ditch. 

Canny  gave  me  love. 
Which  was  riches  enough; 

Gave  me  power  to  do 
My  whole  life  through 

What  is  strong  and  true — 
So  here  's  my  hand  to  you 

And  my  heart  to  you 
And  my  soul  to  you, 

As  all  I  have  is  yours 
More  than  it  is  mine — 

Do  I  count  soul  by  scores, 
Are  ducats  divine? 

Together  are  we 
In  eternity 

Sisters  forever, 
This  world  never 

To  hang  between  us — 
Just  my  love  shall  unscreen  us! 

My  love  I  got  of  Canny 

I  give  it  all  to  you; 

Hard  knocks  are  many, 

Kindnesses  few; 

My  life  I  give  to  live  it, 

My  life  I  live  to  give  it, 

All  of  it  to  you, 

All  my  gold-heap  too! 


Bountiful  Canny's  Granddaughter       429 

Life  has  spirit  in  it, 
There  's  the  thing  in  view 
And  never  in  sight, 
I  to  work  to  win  it 
By  Majesty  of  Right! 
Let  the  way  be  rough, 
Love  is  enough ! 

And  now  may  I  come 
To  your  Kettledrum? 


MABEL  MAPLETON 

Take  love  one  way  or  another, 

Love  of  sweetheart  or  only  brother, 
Love  of  the  roundest  tapered  arm 

Or  kind  lip  of  spirit-charm, 
Whether  I  long  for  one  breast-embrace 

Or  to  look  just  into  some  soulsome  face, 
Love  is  love,  no  matter  the  name. 

The  world  over  and  ever  the  same. 

But  which  way  soever  soul  be  gloved. 

If  cat-pawed  or  manned  or  doved, 
Somewhat  there  must  be  to  be  loved. 

Somewhat  to  bring  you  too 
To  comprehend  how  love  is  true 

Beyond  the  knowledge  or  will  of  you. 
How  it  will  come  without  your  call 

While  you  may  not  know  you  love  at  all. 

Under  her  hill  in  her  bramble-patch 

My  girl-friend  lived — I  have  heard  her  say 
She  loved  her  life  her  cottage-way 

She  lived,  loved  the  yellow  thatch — 
Each  footprint  of  each  throstle-jay 

She  knew,  knew  his  time  of  day 
He  took  to  unbottle  his  best 

Wild  song  just  to  be  her  heavenly  guest. 
430 


Mabel  Mapleton  431 

So  well  I  knew  her,  she  would  say 

Her  heart  to  me,  tell  me  each  day 
Each  little  thing  she  wrought  or  thought 

Righted  her  or  righted  her  not. 
Her  small  cares,  her  largest  hopes 

The  way  a  young  girl  grieves  and  gropes 
To  try  to  compass  each  doll-dream  end. 

While  so  I  grew  to  be  all  her  friend. 

How  now  I  think  how  we  would  sit 

By  her  door  of  an  evening,  she  to  tell 
What  she  did  that  day  so  well. 

What  the  wonderment  of  it 
To  think  she  could  do  her  best 

Her  girl-way  and  never  a  thought 
Of  an  atom  of  gain  to  be  got 

But  soul,  which  was  gaining  on  its  nest. 

Soon  came  her  hour  to  love,  so  now 

She  knew  she  loved  her  city-man 
Of  perfect  gait,  of  angle-bow, 

Outwardness  plummet-spick  and  span, 
He  of  the  cue-cut  scallopy  plan. 

Of  glassy  boot,  as  if  to  incline 
Her  thinking  so  she  should  divine 

He  meant  one  end  of  him  should  shine. 

So  too  he  took  pretty  ways, 
Could  jingle-tinkle  her  praise 

Bell-pot  manner,  the  love  he  felt 
By  no  means  thicker  than  his  pelt. 

While  so  he  would  coil  and  prance 
To  toss  her  his  chipmunk  glance 

To  dazzle — just  boot  and  shin 
Were  masterpieces,  sure  to  win. 


432  Mabel  Mapleton 

By  what  she  saw  of  him  the  more 
She  loved  him — never  before 

Grew  man  that  perfect — there  looked  his  tie 
The  round  tint  to  match  her  eye, 

Each  elbow-dip  of  little  passes 
Sweet  was  and  smooth  as  new  molasses, 

He  talented,  as  this  world  goes. 
To  tickle  fortune  by  his  toes. 

The  other,  his  rival,  was  otherly  made. 

Had  a  slowness  to  press  his  claim, 
Half-spoken,  would  take  to  the  shade 

Of  quiet  merit,  nor  thought  of  fame 
Or  fortune,  thought  only  to  do 

His  most  in  the  world,  manful-true 
To  what  was  noblest  in  him,  by  which 

He  grew  greatness  and  spirit-rich. 

Rather  than  force  himself  forward  he 

Would  keep  his  soul-ground,  would  yield  his  place 
To  the  other — for  that  cause  she 

Saw  never  what  man-hearted  grace. 
What  temple  of  Heaven  was  in  his  face. 

What  there  was  of  him  to  be. 
So  missed  the  soul  in  him,  and  so 

Was  now  about  to  let  him  go, 

Was  about  to  take  her  city-prize, 

Mostly  for  his  boots  and  eyes. 
For  life-mate,  when  next  I  drew 

Her  thought  to  the  other,  how  he  was  true 
As  stars  are,  who  played  his  part 

Of  strong  soul  and  gentle  heart. 
Not  so  much  to  win 

As  to  stand  man-like  through  thick  or  thin. 


Mabel  Mapleton  433 

Could  she  love  a  man,  she  said, 
Just  because  he  was  true  or  great? 

Love  is  perverse,  will  not  be  led, 
Will  hold  to  its  course  at  any  rate 

For  love  only,  not  for  the  sense 
Of  soul  which  a  man  may  claim, 

Since  love  is  all  its  own  recompense, 
Is  scarcely  more  than  a  name 

For  keen  reasonless  passion 

Which  pants  to  break  into  storm. 
One  wild  whim,  ever  out  of  fashion 

Since  ever  refusing  to  conform 
To  any  way  which  is  best, 

Starving  to  be  put  to  the  test — 
So  she  would  love  her  man  for  what 

He  lacked  most,  accomplished  not ; 

Would  love  him  for  his  puky  wit, 
For  just  his  way  he  took  to  spit — 

Grew  he  one  wart  to  his  nose, 
She  should  call  it  her  Bourbon-rose, 

Die  for  love  of  it,  God  knows! 
How  to  talk  to  her  I  knew 

Quite  as  little  as  do  you 
How  to  make  a  cipher  two. 

This  much  she  would  say  of  the  other: 
He  was  not  more  to  her  than  brother; 

Kind  goodness,  nobleness  were  his, 
Fine  as  the  dew-dahlia  is; 

Kept  the  courage  of  his  kind. 
Heart  and  soul  and  truth  of  mind, 

Yet  be  what  he  might,  her  heart  was  so 
She  could  not  love  him,  whether  or  no. 
28 


434  Mabel  Mapleton 

Mark  how  little  she  knew 

Her  heart  the  while  it  grew 
Wider  and  deeper  too, 

For  next  day  only  it  was  said 
He  whom  she  could  not  love  was  dead — 

Gone  of  an  instant,  like  as  men  drop 
Out  of  season — gone  is  the  prop 

Before  there  comes  once  a  thought  to  stop! 

Death  opens  eyes,  opens  hearts. 

Has  a  new  world  to  reveal — 
Now  she  could  see  and  feel 

How  soul  clings  when  body  departs, 
How  the  best  of  you  will  sleep 

Only  that  it  may  grow 
Sun  behind  clouds  that  weep, 

For  love  will  have  it  so. 

Now  he  was  gone  she  coidd  see 

What  breath  was  his  supremacy 
Of  great  heart,  handsome  soul. 

Saw  the  light  in  him  and  whole 
High  hope  and  purpose  of  power 

For  noblemost  in  his  life  of  an  hour — 
Came  to  her  now  his  noon-high  smile, 

How  he  loved  her  so  all  the  while, 

Till  there  her  true  heart  opened  out, 

She  could  see  no  other  about 
Save  him  who  was  borne  away 

To  yonder  corn-colored  violet  day — 
She  found  love  in  her,  found  what  grew  it 

Was  love  in  him — there  's  my  rhyme: 
She  loved  him  and  never  knew  it, 

Loved  him  all  the  time. 


AFRAID  OF  ME? 

This  tree  has  a  robin-top 

Of  so  many  birds 

Of  such  singing  words 
And  not  a  thought  of  them  to  stop, 

I  thought  and  I  said,  Why  may  not  I 
Perch  where  they  perch  in  the  tree-leaves  high? 

"Yes,"  but  I  said,  "they  will  fly  away 
Once  they  hear  my  human  notes  I  play!" 

"Ah,  but  I  sing  truth,"  I  said, 

And  the  truth  is  fine 

As  their  columbine 
Or  any  lip  of  orange-red. 

While  song  is  only  the  single  touch 
Of  Beauty,  and  so  the  case  is  such 

I  sing  truth  like  my  birds  in  their  glee, 
So  why  should  they  be  afraid  of  me?" 

They  sing  their  way  as  I  mine. 

So  what  of  the  art 

Or  pleasure-part 
So  they  point  aloft  to  a  thing  divine 

Above  human,  and  so  above  art. 
One  bursting  forth  of  one  mighty  heart 

Too  full  to  keep,  like  sun  in  a  gem. 
So  why  should  I  be  afraid  of  them? 
435 


436  Afraid  of  Me  ? 

As  there  they  are  free  to  sing, 

Each  heart  to  his  choice 

Of  bells  for  voice, 
Yet  I  tied  down  to  rope  and  ring 

To  beat  the  bars  of  this  cage  of  thought, 
Nor  higher  than  the  cage  is  wrought, 

Small  wonder,  if  once  they  look  to  see, 
They  should  be  so  afraid  of  me ! 

So  came  one  over-blue  day 

Of  such  amber  sun 

As  is  overrun 
By  not  a  cloud — I  took  my  way 

To  my  robin-top  tree,  for  just  there 
Each  bird  was  tossing  his  song  in  air 

Till  I  would  think,  nor  chance  to  choose, 
The  inside  soul  of  sweet  Heaven  was  loose. 

High  in  my  tree  I  was  now. 

My  birds  were  flown, 

I  there  alone 
To  send  my  song  from  this  elbow-bough ! 

They  would  come  again,  my  robins  would. 
For  I  sing  only  my  new  other  mood, 

Which  is  truth,  my  truth  in  melody, 
So  why  should  they  be  afraid  of  me? 

Yet  sing  as  I  would  my  best, 

Never  bird  would  come 

To  my  gladsome  hum 
To  take  my  truth,  to  be  my  guest — 

Afraid  of  me,  'though  I  whistle  truth, 
As  if  I  were  only  claw  and  tooth, 

And  I  my  own  unique-minded  glee — 
Why  should  they  be  so  afraid  of  me? 


Afraid  of  Me  ?  43  7 

Right  as  I  lounged  in  my  bough 

To  hark  to  each  wheeze 

Of  lullaby-breeze 
Which  makes  such  music,  none  knows  how, 

Just  at  the  foot  of  the  tree  there  came 
My  Eunice,  youth  in  her  cheek  for  flame. 

Begged  me  I  come  down  out  of  my  sky 
Now  day  was  gone  and  the  winds  would  die. 

"Not  so,"  said  I,  "but  do  you 

Climb  up  to  me  here 

Where  sight  is  clear 
And  I  have  much  the  larger  view 

To  round  my  truth  to  each  rounded  sky; 
My  look  is  off  as  my  perch  is  high. 

More  I  may  compass  the  sky  around 
Than  you  shall  get  in  your  grubbish  ground." 

"Too  high  for  me,"  she  would  say, 

Such  unstable  top 

And  I  see  it  lop 
Like  an  ear  too  tired  to  hear  you  play ! 

Not  used  am  I  to  your  lookout  there 
Of  such  countless  suns  in  such  boundless  air, 

So  I  should  be  afraid  to  look 
Beyond  my  Pequot-pasture  brook." 

"Afraid  of  me  too,  my  friend, 

'Though  I  sing  how  truth 

Keeps  an  endless  youth. 
And  you  fear  to  look  where  there  is  no  end, 

'Though  I  sing  in  these  champak  leaves 
Which  drop  such  rain-gold  off  the  eaves! 

Is  it  because  of  my  light  to  see 
That  vou  should  be  so  afraid  of  me? 


438  Afraid  of  Me  ? 

"Come  to  my  bough  in  this  tree 

For  such  light  as  is  here, 

For  such  look-out  clear — 
What  harm  shall  come  if  you  look  to  see? 

More  are  you  than  my  birds  which  are  gone, 
More  too  than  any  sky-top  dawn, 

More  is  always  to  look  to  to  be, 
So  why  will  you  be  afraid  to  see? 

"Truth  holds  no  harm  for  you  here, 

'Though  you  give  your  youth 

To  your  love  of  truth ! 
Nought  which  is  noble  has  aught  to  fear, 

So  hold  to  one  truth,  which  is  this: 
Yonder  sky  is  no  precipice 

Down  which  to  tumble — that  much  I  see. 
So  why  this  fear  of  eternity?" 


ENDLESSNESS 

Come  to  see  the  river, 

Little  girl, 

Half  a-quiver, 

All  a-whirl ! 

What  a  way 

It  takes  to  play 

To  be  clever, 

Comes  and  goes 

As  the  snows, 
Yet  the  end  of  it  is  never! 

Have  a  look  to  watch  it 

For  a  while. 

Every  crotchet 

Like  a  smile, 

Every  rimple 

Makes  a  dimple 

Deep  as  ever 

Where  it  purls. 

Spreads  and  furls, 
Yet  the  end  of  it  is  never! 

Look  to  how  my  garden 
Comes  and  goes. 
Tucks  a  nard  in 
Or  a  rose 

439 


440  Endlessness 

For  a  season 
And  no  reason 
But  to  scatter 
Pink  and  sweet, 
Life  complete, 
And  this  dying  cannot  matter. 

A  linnet  in  his  clover 

For  a  song 

Sings  it  over 

Twice  as  long 

As  his  glottis 

Or  his  thought  is, 

Whistles  more 

For  me  to  quote, 

Note  by  note, 
Than  his  life  he  has  in  store. 

What  is  there  to  capture 
In  a  day 
But  the  rapture 
Of  his  lay 
As  he  bubbles 
Above  troubles 
High  and  strong, 
Never  sighing 
At  this  dying, 

For  his  sighing  is  his  song. 

You  are  very  little, 
Little  girl; 
Life  is  brittle 
As  a  pearl; 
I  am  older. 
Stronger,  bolder 


Endlessness  441 

Than  you  ever, 
Yet  the  thyme  is 
More  than  time  is, 
Like  the  end  of  love  is  never. 

Just  a  little  waiting 

I  will  do 

To  be  mating 

Yet  with  you! 

You  shall  learn  to 

Pulse  and  burn  too 

In  a  while, 

For  this  truth  is 

Young  as  youth  is: 
Love  goes  never  out  of  style. 

What  if  there  be  ages 

Yet  ahead, 

Endless  pages 

To  be  read, 

Shall  I  lessen 

By  my  lesson 

In  the  end? 

How  I  smallen 

And  have  fallen 
To  gain  a  world  and  lose  a  friend! 

You  shall  come  to  soul  me 
By  and  by. 
Come  to  dole  me 
Lap  of  sky. 
As  I  fashion 
Love,  not  passion, 


442  Endlessness 

Makes  for  power,    . 
Makes  for  master 
And  long-lastcr, 
More  than  spousals  of  an  hour. 

I  can  wait  the  ages 
Yet  for  you; 
Love  engages 
What  is  true, 
And  my  truth  is 
More  than  youth  is, 
More  to  be. 
More  to  go  to 
And  to  know  too. 

You  to  one  day  come  to  me. 

Come  to  see  the  river 
Made  of  showers, 
See  it  quiver 
Into  flowers! 
There  it  ranges, 
Chops  and  changes 
All  as  ever, 
As  this  love  does, 
Soul  above  us, 

Yet  the  end  of  it  is  never. 


IN  A  MIRROR 

How  long  ago  was  it? — one  moment:    ^ 
I  took  a  day  to  dodge  the  foment 

And  kick  of  the  world ! 

Old  Lantern  Hill  was  a  place  to  see, 

Dew  was  ripe,  sea-swallows  whirled 
In  the  wing  for  free. 

Such  a  blue  sky  above  head  was  now 
As  to  put  me  asking  when  and  how 

I  could  be  there  too 

To  look  up  always  from  high  to  higher, 

Become  one  part  of  the  blazing  blue 
Deep  wonder  entire. 

Brilla  was  there  at  my  side  her  way. 
Half  between  seriousness  and  play 

As  a  sweet  girl  will, 

Now  at  her  glee,  then  again  thinking 

Life  is  more  than  this  daffodil 
Pinking  and  winking. 

Brilla  was  all  of  my  world  to  me ! 

We  took  the  hill  in  hand  just  to  see 
How  the  world  below 

Must  look,  and  we  so  above  in  air 
As  to  see  far  down  and  to  never  know 

Fribble  or  care. 

443 


444  In  a  Mirror 

Up  wc  went,  by  the  longest  way  too, 
While  steep  it  is  as  I  ever  knew, 

Yet  wonder  to  tell. 

Never  we  turned  once  nor  took  one  stop 

Till  we  were  where  the  white  winds  yell 
At  the  bull-horn  top. 

You  know  old  Lantern  Hill  how  it  is, 

One  perpendicular  precipice 
One  side,  one  straight  ledge 

Clean  cut  down  to  the  lake  below, 
Plunging  in  deep  at  the  water's  edge 

As  the  waters  go ! 

Down  we  sat  at  the  very  top. 

Glad  of  such  certain  cocklofty  prop, 

I  close  to  her  side 

To  watch  her  soft-shell  cap  of  red. 

Her  rose-look  in  which  I  took  such  pride, 
Or  her  hand  instead. 

How  now  she  twined  her  fingers  in  mine 

As  wine-flowers  cling  in  their  knuckled  vine 

And  I  drew  her  to  me. 

Put  her  sweet  face  to  my  heart  my  way 

Till  I  thought  my  love  of  her  would  undo  me 
That  wonderful  day! 

I  pointed  high  in  the  sky  above, 

So  many  worlds  to  be  thinking  of, 

Yet  never  is  one 

For  man,  I  said;  he  is  under  the  sky, 

So  like  all  things  under  the  sun, 
Meant  only  to  die. 


In  a  Mirror  445 

"You  do  not  mean  so,  "she  said,  "I  know, 
For  see  the  lake  how  it  has  such  glow 

Like  a  plate  of  glass 

To  take  a  print  of  the  whole  wide  sky 

And  will  not  let  a  little  cloud  pass 
Or  moon  go  by! 

"The  sky  you  see  in  the  lake  down  there 

Is  each  way  perfect  and  all  as  fair 
As  is  overhead. 

So,  if  the  truth  of  things  be  given, 
Man,  in  spite  of  his  narrow  bed, 

Is  surcingled  by  Heaven. 

"Overhead  or  under  water  there 

Just  one  Heaven  is  everywhere, 
Is  about  you  too 

Each  any  way  you  shall  try  to  see. 
So  how  will  you  escape  from  such  blue 

Bright  eternity?" 

How  long  ago!     How  life  goes  by! 

How  could  I  think  she  was  meant  to  die 
So  soon,  so  young, 

Her  red  cheek  of  the  cardinal  flower. 
Her  way  she  visioned  and  loved  and  sung 

In  her  morning  hour? 

I  look  down  from  the  same  spot  still 

Into  her  blue  lake  under  the  hill 
To  find,  shall  I  say, 

Only  the  star-fields  mirrored  there 
And  she  gone,  she  who  was  more  than  they 

By  soul  so  fair? 


446  In  a  Mirror 

But  not  so  far  away  is  she  gone 
Soon  as  I  take  to  thinking  on 

How  she  spoke  that  day : 

Man  has  about  him  all  Heaven  in  touch, 

Which  is  Beauty  at  eternal  play, 
While  Truth  is  such 

As  Beauty  is,  each  is  here  to  stay, 
And  so  I  carol  and  keep  my  way 

Since  this  much  I  know: 

She  was  one  part  of  one  perfect  whole. 

So,  whichever  way  I  choose  to  go, 
Her  high  bright  soul 

Still  stays,  as  Beauty  about  me  stays, 

For  see  how  sky  changes  worlds  and  ways, 

Yet  Beauty  remains 

As  does  the  glint  in  an  eagle's  quill, 

Whichever  way  the  rachis  trains. 
Barb-ends  spill! 

The  soul  of  her,  such  beautiful  part. 
All  there  is  of  this  mind  and  heart. 
Is  by  me  as  now 

I  look  down  in  the  water-glass,   ^ 
Or  up  through  this  sapodilla  bough 

Where  new  clouds  pass 

And  stop  again,  to  show  me  one  law: 
Beauty  is  all  they  are  making  for, 

So  I  hold  to  this, 

The  one  thing  first  in  the  last  I  see: 

Beauty  and  Beauty  make  all  there  is 
To  grow  to  to  be! 


IN  A  DREAM 

Just  a  little  book, 

Just  a  tiny  leaf 

In  a  narrow  nook 

And  the  tale  is  brief: 

Just  a  tiny  book, 

But  it  held  my  hands 

Like  a  gullet-hook, 

As  he  understands 

Who  knows  the  grip  and  neaf 

Of  such  tiny  leaf. 

What  a  thing  it  is  in  the  worid  to  be  free, 
How  much  it  means  in  the  end  to  me, 
Myself  to  completely  be! 

Yet  no  self  I  saw 
Now  the  spotted  claw 
Took  hold  like  an  asp, 
Kept  its  place  and  clasp 
At  my  throat  and  lung 
Just  to  tie  my  tongue 
So  I  should  not  speak 
Nor  a  thought  should  leak, 
I  there  for  fact 
To  be  tricked  and  sacked ! 

A  little  more  truth  always  waits  to  be  known ! 
How  may  I  grow  in  your  chancel-zone 
As  I  was  meant  to  be  grown? 
447 


44^  In  a  Dream 

Such  a  dream  I  had, 
Such  an  ugly  sight 
So  helHshly  bad 
Just  the  other  night, 
I  could  not  tell  you 
The  half,  nor  spell  you 
One  part  of  it  true 
As  the  sick  sight  was 
Of  a  putrid  blue 
In  a  dead  man's  claws ! 

One  moment  I  ask  for  one  proper  full  breath 
To  tell  you  how  near  he  is  to  death 
Who  neither  looks  nor  reasoneth! 

In  my  soundest  sleep 
This  thought,  all  at  once, 
Took  my  soul  to  keep : 
I  was  half  the  dunce, 
Could  not  think  my  wit, 
Knew  less  to  say 
Than  a  parrot's  twit, 
Than  a  muzzled  jay. 
And  the  reason  was, 
For  I  knew  the  cause — 

One  moment,  for  I  must  pluck  muscle  to  tell 
The  terror  of  it  and  perfect  hell. 

And  my  loss  of  myself  as  well — 

One  monster  white  bug. 
Big  as  a  crab, 
Took  the  whim  to  tug 
At  my  brain,  to  stab, 


In  a  Dream  449 

To  suck  my  thought 
By  his  vampire-bite, 
To  smother  my  lot 
And  self  out  of  sight 
By  a  single  sting 
Of  his  poison  wing, 
By  his  nasty  strut 
In  my  soul  and  gut. 

There  he  lay  at  my  brain  at  the  dead  of  night, 

His  wings  were  black,  his  body  white, 

All  only  to  suck  and  to  bite. 

Not  a  jot  I  knew 
Of  why  he  was  there 
Now  I  slowly  grew 
To  less  than  a  hair 
In  the  span  of  me 
Till  the  man  of  me 
Was  weak,  in  the  main. 
As  my  cry  of  pain. 
Was  small,  on  the  whole, 
As  the  spider's  soul. 

What  a  terrible  blame  of  life  to  incur 
That  you,  however  you  right  or  err, 
Have  come  to  less  than  you  were! 

Thought  I  this  bug  grew 

To  know  how  to  chew, 

Was  all  mouth  too 

To  open  out  wide 

Till  I  saw  inside 

Black  teeth  there  to  grind 

On  my  soul  and  mind 


450  In  a  Dream 

As  I  felt  their  bite 
Between  black  and  white 
In  the  dead  of  night. 

Take  me  to  task,  if  you  will,  for  my  thinking 
Man  is  nobler  rising  than  sinking. 
You  at  your  altar-kinking ! 

Shall  I  once  lose  sight 
Of  such  bites  and  stings, 
Of  such  body  white 
Between  two  black  wings, 
All  mouth  open  wide, 
Black  teeth  inside? 
Long  as  I  live 
Shall  I  once  forgive 
The  thrust  at  my  heart 
Of  this  devil's  art? 

What  is  there  left  of  a  man  to  a  pout, 

Less  than  a  pimple-dot,  do  you  doubt. 
And  this  self-soul  of  him  left  out? 

There  now  as  I  lay 
To  think  I  was  gone, 
Came  the  red  end  of  day 
In  painted  dawn, 
Came  a  girl  to  my  side 
So  she  touched  my  cheek — 
It  was  Truth,  my  bride. 
My  power  to  speak 
A  word  for  her  sake 
And  I  was  awake. 


In  a  Dream  451 

One  touch  of  Truth  and  the  world  is  awake 
To  see  and  rise  and  undertake 

What  is  true  for  Supremity's  sake. 

Just  a  fatted  book 
Was  the  bug  in  sight, 
Was  the  thought  I  took 
And  its  poison-bite 
As  I  lay  in  sleep 
And  my  book  in  hand 
Forbade  me  to  speak 
Or  to  understand, 
Save  to  sleep  to  reach 
What  the  teeth  should  teach. 

Have  a  way  of  seeing  and  all  light  will  come! 
No  darkness  like  being  deaf  and  mum! 

Gods  there  no  God  shall  strike  you  dumb ! 


PAPER  DOLLS 

I  KNEW  once  a  dozen  city  girls 

Bright  and  round  as  a  string  of  pearls, 
Dancing  eyes  in  dancing  curls, 

Laughed  as  the  sun  in  a  river  laughs, 
Open-handed,  nothing  by  halves ! 

How  the  laugh  of  a  dozen  girls  swells 
Into  chime-song  of  marriage  bells ! 

Light  as  air  was  the  thought  they  had, 
Nothing  good  in  it,  nothing  bad 

As  words  flew  by  the  myriad 

To  tune  the  wind,  and  I  never  heard 

More  than  the  tickling  silver  word 

To  tell  how  lightly  soul  may  breathe 

If  hearts  tick  nothing  underneath. 

How  should  I  but  listen  to  their  song 

Long  as  any  day  is  long? 
How  could  there  be  any  wrong? 

Shall  I  not  hark  to  each  lightest  breeze 
Teaching  language  to  the  trees? 

I  know  the  flicker  of  each  leaf  and  love  it 
For  the  nothing  there  is  of  it. 

Now  the  flap-end  of  a  rnfi 

Is  pink,  or  shows  a  melted  puff, 
Which  is  food  for  thought  enough! 
452 


Paper  Dolls  453 

A  thing  to  aim  to  for  noble  place 
Is  pomegranate  leaf  in  Limerick  lace, 

Shy  slippers  in  rainbow  green, 
Enough  to  talk  of  and  be  seen ! 

Do  I  not  watch  my  tumble-bee  bob. 

See  him  butt  at  his  rose  to  mob 
The  new  pink,  or  hob  and  nob 

With  sweet  and  turn  himself  twice  over 
Pumping  juice  from  his  field  of  clover? 

So  too  I  watch  my  dozen  girls  cheep 
And  flutter  in  one  honey  heap. 

Comes  now  my  Julie  to  find  me  there, 

Is  jealous  that  I  pay  such  care 
To  such  light  girls,  never  spare 

One  look  to  her  if  she  amble  by 
More  than  I  see  the  perfect  sky 

Which  is  so  all  'round  me  so 
I  have  it  if  I  look  or  no. 

"Ah,"  but  she  thought,  "I  've  a  trick  to  trim! 

Why  not  I  play  paper-doll-whim 
Since  the  role  so  pleases  him? 

Catch  a  man  by  the  bait  he  likes, 
As  you  sniggle  breams  or  pikes ! 

Here  's  a  girl  dangles  her  ribbon-strings — 
He  loves  her  for  the  silver  wings!" 

Next  day,  now  the  sun  was  so  high 

I  missed  my  shadow's  company, 
I  thought  me:  What  if  I  try 

To  find  my  Julie — fate  could  not  err 
If  I  could  be  the  shadow  of  her! 

What  is  there  in  any  darksome  place 
To  light  you  like  the  bright  one  face? 


454  Paper  Dolls 

But  where  I  looked  I  could  find  her  not; 

Was  she  hidden,  had  she  half  forgot 
My  love  of  her  was  my  only  thought? 

Just  where  the  sun  in  the  city  square  purls, 
There  she  cheeped  with  my  dozen  girls 

To  show  her  pill-dotted  shawl,  her  gem 
Of  jasper  like  any  of  them. 

She  thought — you  know  how  each  new  girl  thinks 
You  judge  her  by  her  prinks  and  blinks, 

Her  wasp-waist  or  finger-links — 

She  thought,  once  I  looked  to  these  girls, 

I  loved  their  pompadour  quirk  of  curls, 

So  reasoned  I  must  likewise  love  them, 

Each  for  the  jacket  of  honeycomb  hem. 

Up  she  stood  in  the  midst  of  them  all 

To  talk  me  parrot-talk  quite  as  small 

As  sizzle  in  a  tea-pot  squall, 

As  if  to  find,  in  the  end,  her  man 

Mapped  a  sort  of  paper-doll  plan 

Of  his  own,  on  which  he  was  made — 

And  so  her  pretty  trap  was  laid! 

"Ah,"  but  I  said,  "you  have  found  a  way 
To  speak  less  than  your  great  eyes  say 

By  their  down-deep  spirit-play! 

Or  there  is  that  plum-red  in  each  cheek 

Like  lips  with  more  than  they  can  speak ! 
Or  over  all  is  the  white  high  brow, 

Which  thinks,  as  only  I  know  how! 

Did  you  think  I  could  not  read  below 

Makeshift  or  little  pebble-show 
By  what  I  see  of  you  and  know, 


Paper  Dolls  455 

Such  a  spirit  in  such  a  wreath, 
Such  wondrous  great  heart  underneath 

In  sky-pattern,  gillyflower  grace, 
As  puts  all  fashion  out  of  place? 

Let  the  world  jump  to  its  red  and  blue 

Bubble-fuss  of  ambigu, 
I  claim  just  the  heart  of  you, 

So  well  I  know  you  among  them  all — 
Never  true  greatness  seemeth  small ! 

So  put  aside  that  green  garnet  star, 
I  love  you  for  only  what  you  are ! 


PINK  APPLE  POINT 

Such  another  place  one  would  not  see  by  walks 

Where  the  peevish  sea  pouts  or  north  wind  stalks 
To  try  to  run  down  a  flock  of  hawks, 

Such  a  rare  point  of  peculiar  land 
Of  shape  quite  of  a  kinkajou's  hand, 

Head  like  a  rock-onion,  while  out  of  the  top 
Runs  a  light  like  an  eye  in  a  druggist-shop, 

One  clear  pink  light,  round  as  an  apple. 
For  keeping  the  whole  coast  in  its  grapple. 

While  there  as  I  look  I  could  not  tell  you 
Half  the  heart  of  it  or  belle- view. 

This  was  the  lighthouse  I  saw, 

Head  up  to  Heaven,  nor  a  flaw 
Had  the  eye  of  it  more  than  a  kohinoor; 

Fire  was  the  warning  it  threw 
Across  such  big  stomach  of  blue 

As  sailors  must  duck  to  pay  homage  to. 

In  the  little  lantern  chamber  at  the  top 

Sat  a  girl,  and  she  would  never  leave  the  light 
While  a  single  star  above  her  tried  to  stop 

To  look  at  her,  like  morning's  second  sight; 
Took  her  place  there  just  at  evening  by  the  lamp 

As  a  gunner  at  his  gun,  so  never  knew 
What  a  pinch  of  sleep  was  or  a  camp 

While  there  were  love  and  duty  there  to  do; 
456 


Pink  Apple  Point  457 

Kept  her  watches  all  as  long  as  any  night, 

Kept  the  wild  high  ocean  fountains  full  in  sight — 

If  any  ship  should  happen  to  be  losing 

Her  course,  or  graze  the  bottom  in  her  cruising, 

There  should  come  a  look  of  light  to  make  it  plain 
Not  an  eye  is  small  enough  to  look  in  vain. 

Such  a  handsome  girl  is  she, 

Leaps  of  spirit  in  her  eyes. 
Words  like  bells  of  melody, 

Such  a  look  of  glad  surprise 
For  pleasure  in  every  joint 

To  see  you  at  Pink  Apple  Point! 
At  her  lamp-light  she  will  sit. 

Never  gives  the  world  a  thought 
For  the  paltry  praise  of  it. 

Hugs  her  narrow  prison-spot, 
Hugs  the  pelted  rays  of  it, 

Looks  and  lives  there  just  alone, 
Sleeves  put  back  for  solemn  care, 

Arms  of  alabaster  bare, 
Brow  of  the  spirit  zone. 

Made  for  him  the  sweet  girl  was. 

Her  sailor  across  the  seas; 
Love  makes  always  double  cause, 

Fights  to  capture  and  please. 
He  is  gone  and  her  heart  will  burn —        ' 

Will  he  ever  return? 
How  she  looks  to  the  seas  out  there! 

How  they  return  her  stare! 
What  is  colder  than  a  grave  of  brine. 

Or  so  bottomless  and  undivine 


458  Pink  Apple  Point 

Till  I  stop  to  think :  There  's  one  end, 

But  there  must  be  the  other,  my  friend, 

Two  ends  to  divinity, 

One  dark  end  with  not  a  spark 

Only  to  give  me  my  chance  to  see — 
I  dig  for  light  through  pits  of  dark ! 

Alone  in  her  castle  of  fire 
She  knew  but  the  one  desire 
To  stand  firm  to  her  post, 
Do  her  best  and  most 
For  love  of  Right 
All  her  might, 
While  so 

She  could  be  seen  to  come  and  go 
Once  in  every  day  or  so 
For  oil  to  keep  her  light 
Forever  in  sight, 
Made  her  way    , 
Day  and  day 
To  town, 

Never  the  thin  end  of  a  frown 
Even  'though  her  luck  was  down, 
As  now  it  looked  to  be 
And  her  man  at  sea. 
Her  lonely  lot 
Now  she  thought 
Such  life 

As  hers  made  only  hopeless  strife. 
Never  to  be  noble  wife 
To  him  she  loved,  and  so 
Days  must  come  and  go. 


Pink  Apple  Point  459 


Never  an  end 
Nor  a  friend — 
And  yet 

One  thing  is  never  to  forget: 
Purple  hugs  the  violet ! 
There  is  her  heart  to  do 
To  be  greatly  true 
For  not  a  stain, 
Not  a  gain 
In  view — 

So  she  shall  wear  the  purple  too! 
One  brave  true  thing  was  to  do, 
Nor  to  care  what  should  come 
Of  the  hum  and  drum, 
Nor  give  a  thought 
To  her  lot 
But  this, 

To  be  true  as  the  north  star  is, 

And  what  shall  the  whole  soul  miss 
Of  all  there  is  to  think? 
I  catch,  by  a  wink. 
Millions  of  suns, 
And  so  runs 
My  heart 

Always  beyond  the  body-part 
And  this  little  planet-chart 
To  what  is  endless  fair 
As  the  Dog-Star  stare 
Of  green  and  blue, 
Always  new 
And  true! 


460  Pink  Apple  Point 

One  strange  thing  in  her  Hfc  was  this: 

After  dark  there  was  never  to  miss 
One  strange  man,  and  he  always  came 

After  dark  to  the  lighthouse  steeple — 
Secret  were  his  nature  and  name, 

None  knew  of  him  among  the  people. 
Only  his  purpose  was  to  rapture 

The  lighthouse  girl  so  he  could  capture 
Heart  and  soul  of  her  to  make  her  his, 

So  his  after-dark  plot  was  this. 
To  bring  her  orange-tree  flowers  would  scatter 

Their  lips  in  her  lap  because  he  knew 
They  spoke,  with  never  word  to  flatter, 

What  was  sublime  in  her.     One  time  too 
He  brought  her  larkspur  to  try  to  match 

Her  blue  eyes,  yet  was  never  thinking 
What  soul  was  there  between  the  winking 

Which  was  not  his,  so  he  could  not  catch 
Her  thought  by  his  fascination-power, 

Nor  touch  her  heart  with  one  winter  flower. 
Stood  not  her  sailor  on  yonder  sea ! 

What  counted  these  flowers,  or  any  plea, 
And  she  star-pointer  to  see  her  way 

To  her  man  across  seas  and  away? 

What  is  it  not  my  man  will  do 

To  gain  his  point  if  he  forget 
The  Right  of  a  thing  is  the  Soul  of  it  too 

To  trip  his  trick  and  quodlibet? 

For  who  shall  say  he  holds  such  power 

As  will  crush  out  Beauty,  once  he  sees 

Green  stripes  which  die  in  his  faded  flower 
Live  in  the  stars  and  tumbling  seas 


Pink  Apple  Point  461 

From  which  they  came,  so  each  soul  flies 

To  you  or  me  to  perch  a  while, 
Yet  nests  to  breed  where  Beauty  never  dies, 

Nor  soul  is  ever  out  of  style? 

Thus  this  man  thought  he  could  have  his  way, 

His  little  way  in  his  little  day 
By  force  to  bring  her  to  his  terms. 

And  his  way  so  small  as  the  way  of  worms! 

Here  was  the  month  of  June, 

She  should  marry  him  next  day  noon, 

Or  by  the  light  of  the  nightfall-moon 

She  should  be  locked  in  her  lantern-tower 

This  very  night  and  this  very  hour 

To  know  his  will  and  his  pinch  of  power! 

Oil  in  her  lamp  should  sizzle  down, 

The  glass  should  crock  as  the  light  died  out, 
She  should  no  more  make  her  way  to  town, 

His  word  for  it,  and  not  a  doubt 
Her  oil  should  fail,  her  lamp  die  out! 

Lives  how  many  should  be  tossed 

Ashore,  how  many  should  be  lost 
For  not  a  light  to  be  seen 

Where  always  a  light  had  been 
In  the  lighthouse  tower  to  save 

Sea-lords  from  their  water-grave! 

"Point  me  to  my  honeymoon, 

Marry  me  to-morrow  noon. 
You  shall  be  free  in  return 

So  your  lighthouse  light  shall  burn 
To  leap,  like  a  savior  of  men, 

To  their  rescue  again  and  again! 


462  Pink  Apple  Point 

"Marry  me  not,  then  shall  you  stay 

Prisoner  here  many  a  day, 
The  while  any  ship  may  dock 

Her  load  of  souls  in  yonder  rock 
And  you  no  oil  in  your  litter 

By  which  this  lamp  may  spit  and  glitter." 

Enough  said — she  could  not  see 

Souls  put  in  eternity 
For  want  of  a  handful  of  light! 

Such  was  her  kingdom  of  Right 
She  should  be  brave  to  do 

What  was  noble  of  her  through 
To  misery  in  the  last  ditch — 

Right  is  always  kingdom-rich. 

"Take  me,"  she  said,  "I  am  yours 

To  have  for  these  few  human  hours 
Of  life  as  you  show  it, 

As  you  value  and  I  know  it — 
To  church  to-morrow,  my  word 

I  wed  you  at  the  noon-top  hour 
My  marriage-bells  are  heard — 

Am  I  not  in  your  power, 
Goes  there  aught  for  me  to  do 

But  pay  my  homage,  sir,  to  you?" 

Next  day  at  the  altar  they  both  stood: 
"Your  name?"  said  the  priest! 

"Donald  Beltraven,  or  at  least. 
So  have  I  ever  understood 

My  name  was — both  parents  died 
Ere  I  was  old  enough  to  know 


Pink  Apple  Point  463 

Names  from  knuckles,  and  beside, 

What  's  in  a  name  if  poppies  blow 
What  *s  in  a  name  if  I  have  the  bride?" 

"  Much  in  a  name  as  a  name  is  much, 

As  see  me  put  it  to  the  touch," 
Said  the  priest,  "now  I  ask  her  name 

For  you  to  find  it  half  the  same 
As  yours — Beltraven — I  know  you  both — 

Celia  Beltraven,  as  on  my  oath 
I  christened  each  of  you  at  this  font 

As  infants,  as  by  common  wont 
These  parish  records  have  nothing  lacked — 

You  are  brother  and  sister  for  fact!" 

That  night  what  shoots  of  fire  put  forth 

From  the  lighthouse  east  and  north 
Like  her  heart  leaped  as  if  it  would  flee 

Over  and  over  all  the  sea 
To  one,  her  sailor,  who  was  gone  forth 

Into  the  whip  of  the  seas, 
Into  the  black  angry  north 

To  take  his  chance,  like  the  rest  of  these — 
He  has  wandered  away  and  away! 

Would  he  never  come  back  one  day? 

Another  year  you  shall  see  them  sitting 

Cottage-covered,  next  her  pretty  fire, 
Song-swallows  in  the  roof  are  knitting 

Nests  of  sunshade  in  ivy  wire. 
Her  rye-field  'round  her;  her  strong  man, 

Now  at  his  meridian, 
Now  at  the  sea  no  more. 

Clasps  her  at  their  cottage  door 
For  love  of  her,  while  such  light 


464  Pink  Apple  Point 

Comes  from  his  eyes  as  she  shall  see 
Reckons  with  eternity — 

Her  light  she  threw  to  him  into  the  black 
She  gets  now  and  thousand-fold  back — 

Always  one  step  higher  in  sight 
As  come  the  evening  suns, 

Corvus  falters,  Auriga  runs, 
While  they  look  up  and  around. 

Watch  each  calycanthus  grow 
Or  sumac  so  they  shall  know 

Beauty  is  meant  to  leave  the  ground — 
There  she  shall  live  to  love  in  sight 

Of  one  sea  of  eternal  light — 
Mark  the  Royalty  of  Right ! 

Oh,  brother,  there's  the  nature  of  things! 

See  throughin  and  throughout  it. 
As  who  shall  doubt  it. 

Right  is  a  Kingdom  if  Men  be  Kings ! 


VALERIE  FAY 

Only  to  think  of  it  that  she  is  dead, 

Laid  cold  and  straight  in  her  straight  cold  hall! 

A  few  slain  flowers  to  droop  about  her  head, 

A  few  slow  hands  to  dress  her  bed, 

And  of  all  that  was  once  of  her,  this  is  all ! 

Only  to  think  the  days  will  come  no  more 

Just  to  knit  narcissus  in  her  cheeks; 

To  put  their  purple  bells  against  her  door, 

Carol  to  her,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Or  catch  the  linnet  listening  when  she  speaks! 

You  were  young  and  quick  at  gain,  Valerie  Fay, 

Laying  hold  on  your  world  with  a  will; 

A  heart  which  was  whole  months  of  May, 

A  soul  to  outwit  the  clay. 

And,  lo,  the  warm  wild  breath  stands  cold  and  still! 

Young  and  quick  at  gain — you  were  very  young, 

Loved  him  as  only  youth  may  love ; 

You  thought  the  very  soul  was  strung 

Along  the  treble  of  his  tongue, 

You  dreamed  the  rose  he  brought  was  love  for  love! 

Friends  told  how  he  was  false  as  hollow  chaff 
In  a  pufE  of  wind  to  whine  his  cause; 
They  wondered  much  how  you  could  stoop  to  quaff 
The  mockery  of  his  shallow  laugh. 
Nor  see  what  lordly  sham  was  all  he  was. 
30  465 


466  Valerie  Fay 

But  here  was  truth — you  loved — just  that  was  all 
Of  thought  which  drifted  from  heart  to  head ; 
You  would  not  hark  to  catch  the  louder  call 
Of  one  who  loved  you  most  of  all — 
My  love  was  nothing  to  you,  so  you  said. 

You  loved  him  for  yourself — such  was  enough : 
What  mattered  if  he  loved  you  not? 
What,  too,  'though  he  were  made  of  stuff 
Which  underneath  the  mock  was  rough? 
Little  hollow  cares  and  soon  forgot! 

Here  is  the  law:  Not  for  thyself  alone. 
Not  one  half  a  step  in  life's  few  days! 
So  wholly  near  together  are  we  grown. 
Since  Love  once  made  the  world  his  own. 
There  's  just  the  step  aside  to  wondrous  maze. 

But  just  to  think  of  it  that  she  is  gone, 

Gone  out  of  my  hopefullest  young  day! 

Not  another  star  is  in  yonder  dawn, 

Nor  other  trust  of  earth  to  be  born. 

For  I  loved  you  and  loved  you,  Valerie  Fay ! 


NO  DEATH 

Afraid  of  death, 
He  who  reasoneth? 

The  arms  of  the  skies 
Laid  me  in  the  grass; 
Soon  I  began  to  rise; 
Each  day  tried  to  pass, 
Yet  came  'round  to  me  again 
Till  I  learned  joy  and  pain, 
Joy  because  it  came, 
Pain  because  it  went, 
One  finger  of  flame 
Out  of  the  firmament 
To  point  to  me  straight, 
To  point  always  to  me 
So  I  could  wholly  see 
Power  is  far  and  great 
As  eternity. 
Power  to  you,  Power  to  me! 

What  is  the  way  of  the  world  to  go 

If  all  I  am  is  what  I  know 
Of  how  balloon  vines  climb  and  blow? 

To-day  are  they  white,  another  day  red. 
And  yet  another  and  they  are  dead. 

Do  I  climb  and  I  bloom  to-day, 
467 


468  No  Death 

And  another  day  I  call  a  halt, 

As  if  there  were  nothing  more  to  say 

And  I  had  no  nobler  game  to  play 

Than  life  at  its  little  puff  of  fault? 

You  've  a  way  of  thinking 

You  are  more  than  what 

Puts  you  snoozing,  winking, 

Tickles  rib  or  thought ! 

There  's  your  rare  voice,  mine  's  the  same, 

So  hold  you  to  it,  play  the  game! 

He  was  my  schoolfellow,  he  who  died 

So  young,  while  I  was  younger  yet — 
Who  is  there  ever  could  forget? 

We  together  so  side  by  side. 
He  of  the  great  noble  brow  and  eye 

Of  such  faultless  beautiful  gaze 
I  knew  spirit  nested  in  his  face. 

Something  of  him  not  meant  to  die, 
His  hand  in  mine,  and  boy-like  we  galloped 

Across  field — each  wall  was  scalloped 
Ashes  of  roses,  each  wejack  about 

Kept  close  quarters,  hopped  in  and  out, 
The  titlark  gave  an  after-shout 

Of  rapture,  whistle  and  gong, 
As  if  he  plauded  his  own  song — 

On  we  rushed,  all  after  nought 
But  the  rough  wind  in  one  butternut  knot 

Of  branches  we  mouth-watered  for — 
How  a  boy's  heart  throbs  in  his  craw! 

Flowers  we  gathered  and  gathered  grasses — 
Time  stays  and  life  passes. 

Till  soon,  how  sopn  I  lost  him — he  went  on 


No  Death  469 

Before  his  May  month  was  begun, 
Felt  his  way  out  and  beyond  me, 

Death  unwilling  to  unbond  me, 

And  so  I  walk  in  my  field  alone 

To  think  this  only :  My  friend  is  gone. 

Is  he  gone,  my  friend, 

And  there  the  end 

Of  what  was  incomplete, 

His  days  so  new  and  sweet 

And  yet  not  ended. 

Were  scarcely  begun 

To  be  comprehended 

Before  they  were  done. 

As  my  eyes  see  it, 

This  life  meant  to  be. 

He  not  meant  to  be  it — 

Is  that  all  I  see. 

And  so  much  of  him  there, 

More  than  is  found 

In  this  pompous  ground 

Or  trunk  of  air? 

He  went  so  soon, 
I  stay  so  long; 
Barely  one  June 
Had  dropped  its  song 
Of  the  kingbird  cry 
To  tempt  him  to  fly 
Ere  he  breathed  to  die! 
Do  I  wait  for  him. 
Does  he  wait  for  me? 
Comes  time  or  limb 
Of  infinity? 


470  No  Death 

My  life  is  incomplete 
Without  his  joys, 
His  hands  and  feet 
My  pretty  toys, 
His  cymbal  voice 
On  the  trombone  wind 
And  I  made  my  choice — 
Has  the  good  God  sinned? 

The  child  was  he,  and  he  died; 

The  man  am  I,  and  I  live  on  now; 
My  life,  therefore,  is  it  so  wide, 

And  he  of  the  noble  eye  and  brow 
To  compass  such  Beauty  every  how 

Only  to  breathe  an  hour  and  he  died? 

Once  to  the  grass  he  stooped, 

Picked  for  me  one  dead  leaf 

Where  once  the  north  wind  swooped 

And  slashed  beyond  belief — 

He  put  this  truth  to  me: 

What  is  this  leaf  to  see 

More  than  deformity, 

More  than  wrinkles  to  pout 

Now  the  red  and  green  are  torn  out? 

Or  where  are  they  gone 

To  be  no  more  seen 

That  I  feasted  on. 

The  red  and  the  green? 

Were  they  made  to  die 

And  this  leaf  to  stay? 

But  there  is  my  sky 

Of  shadowless  day; 

There  's  my  perfect  blue 


No  Death  471 

To  the  last  end  true 

To  my  look,  and  too, 

That  I  may  not  say 

My  universe. 

For  better  or  worse. 

Is  not  come  to  stay ! 

Looked  he  this  truth  to  me, 

His  truth  which  was  plain; 

All  that  I  think  to  see 

Will  come  again, 

For  the  green  and  the  red 

Are  gone,  yet  not  dead, 

For  now  I  have  them  again. 

In  this  moonlight  rain. 

There  is  the  other  soul  of  me 

Never  man  was  meant  to  see, 
Over-ground  and  over-much, 

I  not  to  count  it  among  my  beads, 
Not  for  me  to  taste  or  touch. 

Has  more  than  the  ground-worm  needs, 
Is  more  than  stomach  and  clutch. 

For  he  is  with  me  now. 
Much  as  he  once  was  then, 

My  friend  of  the  wondrous  eye  and  brow 
Above  worldish  ways,  human  ken, 

He  with  me  as  I  with  him, 
And  it  matters  not,  this  knuckle  or  limb 

Or  loop  of  thought  between  friends — 
Much  begins  where  little  ends. 

True,  I  may  not  see; 
True,  I  may  not  touch; 
Soul  is  meant  to  be, 
Death  is  meant  for  much 


472  No  Death 

As  dark  glass  on  the  eyes 
To  help  me  see  the  skies ; 
Power  is  meant  for  such 
As  I  to  have  and  to  hold 
And  no  growing  old, 
Nor  any  loss  of  size — 
In  yonder  endless  wold 
Worlds  nor  fall  nor  rise — 
Death  to  help  mc  to  see, 
Death  to  point  me  to  be 
One  grain  of  eternity — 

And  there  lies  my  tiny  schoolfellow  friend 

In  his  garden  yonder ! 
I  walk  to  the  flower-path  end 

As  now  I  think  of  him  and  wonder 
How  or  where  he  may  be,  or  what 

That  I  dream  of  not, 
And  I  by  his  little  resting-spot 

'  Take  his  dead  leaf  out  of  my  breast 
He  gave  me  that  day. 

His  leaf  of  wrinkles  and  croppcn  crest; 
The  green  and  the  red  have  gone  their  way, 

Which  I  look  to  find, 
As  over  beyond  I  see  where  they  lie 

And  I  never  divined. 
My  green  and  my  red  on  the  evening  sky. 

So  to  him  who  reasoneth 

As  the  sweet  soul  seasoneth, 

Purely  for  surely  there  is  no  death 

To  the  upward  eye,  heavenly  breath. 


CRAFT 


Help  yourself,  my  friend, 

Never  you  mind  me! 
Push  your  purpose  to  an  end 

For  all  you  can  see ! 
You  have  your  cunning  sight, 

Your  blizzard-bite, 
Your  hog-inkling  each  way 

You  grunt  and  pray! 
Never  you  took  bother 

About  man  or  brother 
For  half  a  look  to  see 

How  best  to  do  or  be, 
So  never  you  mind  me! 


II 


Nor  you  mind  that  man  there  on  his  knees 

With  a  Bishopric  to  please ! 
He  licks  a  priest's  knuckles, 

Thinking  that  way  to  win  God, 
Whimpers  and  trims  and  truckles 

While  they  grind  him  into  the  sod! 
Never  he  got  a  chance  to  think, 

Nor  eye  open  enough  to  wink, 

473 


474  Craft 

While  you  have  him,  you  and  your  priest, 
Like  a  combination-beast 

To  swallow  him  whole. 
Body  and  soul ! 


Ill 


Help  yourself,  help  heavily, 

Do  your  trick  cleverly; 
Take  the  world  for  a  dish 

So  you  dip  every  wish 
To  one  mouthful-purpose 

To  stuff  your  gullet  like  a  porpoise 
By  imbroglio  and  fallace, 

Make  your  home  in  a  palace 
Above  the  green-swept  sod 

Wholly  because  you  can 
By  your  thinking-pan, 

Wholly  for  the  love  of  God, 
Never  for  the  love  of  man. 


IV 


You  and  your  partner  priest, 

He  to  keep  me  for  dear  dunce 
Ignorant  of  my  rights  of  man. 

Keep  the  thought  of  me  policed 
— What  like  ignorance  blights,  stunts ?- 

There  's  your  sublime  altar-plan ! 
Have  you  thought  that  aoolyte 

Reaches  ever  his  full  height 
To  think  and  blossom  and  feel 

And  he  under  your  kick  and  heel? 


Craft  475 

Take  him  off  of  your  closet-shelf, 

Stand  him  straight  to  be  himself, 
All  the  good  great  soul  of  him — 

Your  one  way  to  get  the  whole  of  him ! 


But  to  come  back  to  me — 

Never  you  mind  me  a  whit, 
I  have  only  myself  to  be 

Squarely  for  the  love  of  it 
And  not  for  that  bribe  of  yours 

Which  tickles  and  gores, 
Your  crown  of  life,  your  price  in  view 

To  buy  me  to  be  true. 


VI 


This  girl  I  knew  died  in  a  pit, 

Your  dungeon,  if  you  told  the  truth. 
And,  oh,  the  monstrous  pity  of  it 

She  should  be  lost  in  her  handsome  youth! 
She  had  a  lover — I  knew  him  too — 

Straight  he  was  and  handsome  through 
As  any  soul-stalk  ever  grew; 

Bore  himself,  as  each  heart  should, 
Building  vmiversal  good, 

Kind  as  Christmas,  one  desire 
To  lift  his  world  a  fathom  higher 

Than  pit-grovelling  to  see  how 
Low  a  man  shall  make  his  bow 

To  tickle  the  God  above  him. 
As  if  that  made  the  Majesty  of  him! 


476  Craft 


VII 


You  should  have  seen  them  an  afternoon 

Together,  any  day  of  June, 
Bon  Silene  flowers  in  hand 

They  could  understand, 
Sun-gold  counted  into  spots 

By  fathoms  of  forget-me-nots! 
Each  bird  matched  his  lemon  breast 

With  rye-rods,  and  crest  to  crest 
He  footed  it  and  sang  his  best ! 

There  was  nothing  to  think  for  fear, 
Not  any  bottling  of  thought  up,  here. 

Only  the  wild  free  heart  was  dear! 
Evening  would  come,  the  true  full  moon 

Looked  softer,  like  an  eye  of  June ; 
The  same  love  too,  which  was  always 

Used  to  no  bottlement  or  small  ways, 
Took  language,  high  above  any  speech. 

More  than  man  to  man  may  teach, 
As  each  was  lost  in  the  love  of  each. 

VIII 

Then  you  came,  you  and  your  priest. 

Bound  to  separate  the  two, 
Her  lover  to  make  monk,  at  least 

So  you  planned,  your  priest  and  you, 
To  tie  his  brain  by  your  knots. 

Make  monk  of  him,  set  him  tuning 
His  spirit-notes  to  your  babooning 

To  glossen  among  empty  pots. 
You  took  the  man  out  of  him,  short  order. 

Brought  him  to  your  canon  border. 


Craft  477 

Muzzled  his  nose  like  an  ox, 

Put  his  thinldng  in  your  stocks — 
So  you  contrived  to  new-whelp  him 

To  your  purpose,  and  God  help  him ! 

IX 

She,  the  fine  lover-girl,  came  next, 

Took  a  leaf  out  of  your  text : 
The  world  is  to  be  put  aside! 

Soon  as  God  made  it  he  sighed 
Just  to  see  how  hard  he  tried 

To  make  it  beautiful  and  wide 
And  man  not  one  half  satisfied 

To  face  it,  man-fashion  free. 
For  all  he  may  do  to  be, 

All  himself  whole-soulfully, 
So  sneaks  out  of  it,  as  if  he  knew 

One  nobler  finer  thing  to  do 
Than  face  the  force  God  meant  him  to ! 


He  for  monk,  she  for  nun, 

And  your  master-stroke  is  done ! 
Snug  in  one  of  your  safety-stalls. 

Behind  protection,  such  as  their  walls 
Make  manifest,  there  she  prayed. 

All  as  if  what  she  mumbled  made 
For  power,  and  not  the  thing  to  be  done, 

A  world  to  be  faced,  one  fight  to  be  won. 
Coward  you  made  of  her  that  day 

She  ran  from  the  world  away 
To  fear  God  and  smirk  and  pray 

For  Heaven  to  open  and  dip  her  way. 


478  Craft 

XI 

Their  two  lives  were  God-started! 

God  knows  they  were  priest-parted, 
Snuffed  under  and  broken-hearted! 

You  and  your  partner- priest 
Make  most  and  love  least 

By  such  rulery — but  hold, 
There  's  a  spot  of  blood  in  that  spot  of  gold 

Will  take  you  whole  eons  to  rub  out — 
Spare  me  your  quibble  and  muzzle  that  pout ! 

xn 

Love  of  truth,  love  of  man. 

Love  to  do  your  most  you  can 

For  no  favor,  no  fear, 

You  to  step  high-minded  free 

As  the  cherry-finch  in  his  tree. 
So  the  way  of  life  is  clear, 

So  the  way  of  death  is  dear. 


ALWAYS  ROSALIE 

What  should  I  think  if  you  should  say 

There  stood  now  in  my  garden-space 
My  Rosalie  her  perfect  way 

She  used  to,  her  same  true  face 
Looking  to  me,  as  once  she  did 

Before  the  shadow  dropped  between 
To  part  us,  like  a  sorrow-screen, 

And  I  was  looking  where  she  was  hid? 

Flower-leaves  die,  so  you  say  there  is  nothing 
Worth  while  but  just  this  body-betrothing. 

If  she  were  there  in  my  garden  now 

Under  her  apple-blossom  bough, 
Gave  me  one  such  gentle  look 

As  once  she  used  to,  eternal  sky 
Printed  wondrously  in  her  eye 

As  it  is  mirrored  in  a  brook, 
Would  I  be  glad  she  was  come  again 

Back  to  this  world  for  its  touch  of  pain? 

Hark,  where  my  hyacinth  is  dying, 

How  winds  in  the  broken  leaves  are  sighing ! 

Or  if  she  should  speak  to  me  that  one  word 
Never  before  or  since  was  heard 

By  me  in  any  path  I  went. 

And  I  know  all  it  held  and  meant ! — 

479 


480  Always  Rosalie 

Think  you  I  never  hear  it  again 

Without  her  lips  to  tell  me  plain, 

And  there  the  sweet  word  trebles  its  part 
Ringing  new  majesty  in  my  heart? 

Hark,  where  my  hyaeinth  is  springing, 
How  winds  in  the  leaves  for  lips  are  singing! 

Or  if  she  should  come  to  me  to  place 

Her  warm  cheek  once  more  to  my  face 
In  the  old  way,  I  to  not  know 

But  that  it  always  had  been  so, 
Think  you  this  heart  of  mine  could  stir, 

My  white  cheek  take  to  turning  red 
More  than  they  do  now  she  is  dead, 

Once  I  begin  to  think  of  her^ 

Hark  in  the  leaves  how  the  air  is  clinging — 
Her  sky- voice,  neither  sighing  nor  singing! 

This  was  her  field-flower  once  she  dropped. 

And  now  I  have  it,  while  what  is  more, 
'Twas  so  much  like  her  before  it  stopped, 

Little  fingers  of  madrepore, 
Crescent  eyes  in  the  morning's  cheek, 

Lips  too,  yet  would  you  say 
Just  because  they  have  paled  away 

They  lack  language  or  power  to  speak? 

Count  life  as  you  will,  either  much  or  nothing, 
There  goes  one  higher  kind  of  betrothing! 

Always  I  have  her,  nor  you  may  know 

By  leaf  or  life-line  how  it  is  so! 
What  I  am  I  may  not  touch  nor  see, 

How  then  shall  death  snatch  myself  from  me? 


Always  Rosalie  481 


Life  is  to  live,  Power  is  to  gain, 

Always  is  more  to  think  of  to  be, 
So  is  this  truth  to  the  purpose  plain: 
Always  and  always  my  Rosalie ! 
31 


AT  SEA 

Once  was  a  ship 

Where  waves  ran  high 

As  her  topmast-tip 

Speared  an  ugly  sky 

Of  clouds,  like  black  wings  in  a  swarm, 

A  ship  snapped  up  in  the  whip  of  the  storm. 

One  bellowing  bark 

Out  of  the  dark, 

One  lunge  of  the  seas 

Such  as  rips  and  rees, 

One  back-handed  blow  at  the  underhuU 

And  her  broadside  gaped  like  a  broken  skull. 

To  the  pumps  to  a  man 

How  they  ducked  and  ran    , 

As  brothers,  one  thought 

For  one  hero-lot, 

As  if,  howsoever  they  pulled  and  bored. 

They  could  dump  the  deep  seas  overboard! 

Sooner  than  what 
Was  done  or  thought 
She  was  down  to  her  deck, 
Was  up  to  her  neck 

And  under,  to  grope  in  such  pit  of  death 
As  swallowed  her  down  like  a  smothered  breath. 
482 


At  Sea  483 

Next  day  morning, 

Just  at  dawning, 

Six  men  at  a  raft 

Kept  a  look,  fore  and  aft, 

For  any  one  thing  to  be  seen  to  be — 

There  was  only  the  vast  abandoned  sea. 

How  many  days 

I  shall  not  say 

They  were  castaways 

Where  sunbeams  play 

To  no  purpose  of  grape  or  daffodil, 

But  only  at  loose  ends  to  stab  and  kill. 

Hunger  made  fast 

At  the  throat  of  each, 

Scarce  a  breath  came  to  last 

Or  hope  to  reach. 

As  'spite  of  all  purpose  and  do  their  best 

They  were  blown  as  thistledown  east  and  west. 

Could  it  be  blunder, 

Or  what  say  you 

Was  the  thing  to  do 

Now  the  seas  rolled  under 

To  pitch  their  perch  above  hope,  high  and  dry. 

For  never  a  chance  in  sight  but  to  die. 

When  now  came  the  plan 

Of  a  life  to  give. 

The  life  of  one  man 

That  the  rest  should  live! 

For  who  shall  say,  if  soul  reaches  high, 

'T  were  nobler  to  live  for  men  than  to  die? 


484  At  Sea 

For  quicker  than  shots, 

At  one  certain  sign, 

They  were  casting  lots 

Like  Princes  divine 

To  see  who  should  die,  never  but  nor  if, 

So  his  brothers  might  have  the  chance  to  live, 

When  their  captain  stood, 

Eyes  out  to  the  west, 

In  one  mighty  mood 

To  do  his  best — 

Only  a  word:  "Far  rather  would  I 

Go  first  than  any  of  you  should  die" — 

Nor  sooner  said 

Than  the  thing  was  done, 

Their  captain  there  dead 

In  the  laurel  sun 

By  his  own  hand,  and  much  as  to  say, 

"I  did  my  best  for  you,  boys,  my  way!" 

However  much 

Of  hunger  was  there, 

They  could  not  touch 

To  bruise  him  a  hair — 

One  look  of  love,  one  heart  up  to  God, 

And  they  lowered  him  in  the  sea-blue  sod. 

What  matters  their  name, 

Or  the  place  they  lie? 

Beauty's  the  same 

In  earth  or  sky ! 

Of  great  men  in  the  world  there  are  many. 

But  greater  than  these  men  were,  never  any. 


THE  STORY  OF  ZEMEPHETH  TALLITH 

Zemepheth  Tallith  is  one  man 

Who  built  wisdom  out  of  what  he  saw, 

So,  built  this  tale — nothing  truer  than 
The  pith  of  it  to  prove  one  law 

The  sky-worlds  plunge  and  glisten  for: 

By  his  evil  way  he  thought  to  win! 

Let  us  look  to  see  what  a  way  it  was 
He  took  to  trick  and  wallow  in ! 

Anything  to  gain  his  cause, 
While  so  he  thought,  by  tricks  of  chance, 

To  dagger  one  honest  circumstance. 
As  if  evil  were  not  doomed  in  advance! 

Fair  was  the  girl,  as  he  knew. 

Honest  and  lovemost  too ; 
One  other  point  he  saw, 

I  was  her  man  she  was  looking  for, 
Not  he — all  would  agree. 

From  what  they  guessed  of  her  or  could  see, 
She  gave  her  whole  woman-heart  to  me. 

My  rival  now  was  one  of  those 
To  think  soul  is  made  out  of  sod. 

To  measure  man  by  what  he  knows, 
To  think  he  could  someway  outwit  God 

By  trick-slick  or  dark  doing 
To  get  the  most  as  this  world  goes 

And  never  reap  the  ruing, 
485 


486         The  Story  of  Zemepheth  Tallith 

Nor  saw  how  Evil  is  doomed  at  first, 

How  the  thing  which  lasts  is  Beautiful  Right, 

Evil  sure  to  be  kicked  and  curst 
In  spite  of  his  magic  might — 

He  could  think,  so  knew  a  way 

To  gain  his  point  by  deviltry-play, 

Keep  the  best  of  him  at  bay. 

The  girl  he  knew  kept  a  heart  for  me. 
Was  mine  by  force  of  my  love  of  her, 

Yet  he  must  try  his  thinking  to  see 
If  he  could  contrive  to  stir 

Her  longing  to  look  his  way  a  bit — 
What  mattered  the  wrong  or  right  of  it? 

All  is  fair  in  love  and  war 
So  he  bag  the  plunder  he  pillaged  for ! 

First  he  must  let  his  own  heart  go 
— Love  to  catch  love,  he  knew  the  bait — 

Then  forth  at  it  to  tell  her  so, 
No  occasion  to  smug  or  wait, ' 

Danger  lies  in  being  late — 
So  up  to  her  straight  and  out  with  his  heart 

By  his  lip  of  sireny  song-bird  art. 

Next  he  must  throw  me  down — she  should  see 
I  was  small  matter  as  her  world  went — 

I  might  wear  bells,  be  rhythm-bent, 
"^^     Yet  what  could  it  count?     Man  must  be 

Front-militant  if  he  would  win. 

While  to  lose  the  game  he  is  playing  in 

Is  lop-witted  and  sample  sin. 

Not  enough  he  could  say  to  her 
Of  his  greatness,  of  my  dwindlement, 


The  Story  of  Zemepheth  Tallith        487 

To  put  himself  first,  as  if  it  were 
More  than  half  the  thing  he  meant 

To  push  me  aside,  let  me  know 
He  was  the  mightier,  and  so 

I  could  not  get  her,  whether  or  no. 

To  her  he  was  flower  of  speech : 

Her  hand  was  like  the  satin  cheek 
Of  a  leaf  of  queen-lily  to  beseech 

A  man  to  open  his  heart  and  speak, 
While  he  now  would  have  her  all  his  own, 

To  be  his  love  for  eternal  life, 
So  begged  her  to  be  his  noble  wife. 

She  watched  him  through  as  I  watch  my  snipe 
On  his  quicksands  duck  and  pipe, 

Nor  knew  what  under  stars  he  meant 
By  his  tatterwallops  as  on  he  went 

To  tell  her  of  his  love. 
To  tell  her  I  was  not  fire  enough, 

Only  a  topaz  in  the  rough, 

And — there  as  soon  as  he  said  it  all. 

Told  the  great  of  him  and  the  small, 

"Why"  she  answered,  "could  you  not  see 
Your  rival  is  all  the  world  to  me? 

Was  there  no  way  you  should  know 

My  heart  for  how  I  loved  him  so? — 

I  married  him  just  a  year  ago!" 


ONE  GREAT  MAN 

In  the  world  are  many  great  men, 

Greatness  is  every  now  and  then; 
I  see  it  in  each  coke-hole  pit, 

'Though  I  be  never  looking  for  it — 
In  yonder  roundhouse  or  where  I  may 

Go  loafing  haphazard  any  day 
I  see  it,  and  always  for  what 

Is  wonderful,  and  I  dreamed  of  not. 

So  too  is  it  a  thing  not  of  thought 

To  be  by  diagram  any  way  taught, 
Is  not  to  be  swallowed  like  a  pellet ; 

Genius  may  lack  it  and  yet  tell  it 
By  climax  of  page  upon  page, 

Yet  is  it  not  a  gift  of  age 
Nor  unique  property  of  youth. 

But  only  one  Beauty  of  boundless  truth. 

Here  is  a  case  in  hand : 

You  see  the  people  piling  by 
In  Broadway,  as  if  the  rounded  land. 

Whether  for  joy  or  pity, 
Tumbled  all  mankind  into  the  city. 

As  if  there  were  no  other  place  to  die 
Or  live,  as  the  case  may  be. 

And  men  like  flies  in  a  pot  of  tea. 
488 


One  Great  Man  489 

Among  them  pushed  one  tiny  fellow, 

Ten  years  old  only  to  a  day, 
Eager  eyes,  cheeks  white  and  yellow, 

In  and  out  he  wound  his  way 
Dogwise  among  them,  tried  to  say 

What  he  craved,  more  people  to  buy 
His  evening  papers,  yet  never  a  sigh 

As  the  deaf  and  dumb  crowd  passed  him  by. 

Two  small  hands,  now  he  put  them  up, 

White-about-thin  as  a  lily's  cup; 
Two  blue  wide  eyes,  like  an  open  book. 

Gave  you  one  kindest  manful  look 
'Though  he  saw  night  come  dropping  down 

Its  veil  between  him  and  the  town 
To  put  his  whole  outlook  dim — 

Was  there  no  place  in  the  world  for  him? 

Slightest  hands,  such  tiny  feet, 

So  you  reason  death  is  all, 
A  blow  of  final  defeat 

For  one  so  wholly  fragile  and  small ! 
But  hark,  here  's  another  kind  of  thing. 

Voice  with  soul  in  it,  such  a  ring 
Above  hands  and  feet  and  all 

As  speaks  of  nothing  fragile  or  small ! 

Little  legs  as  the  arms  are  small. 

Body  thin  as  a  strawberry  stem. 
Yet  soul  as  large  as  sky-grace,  all 

The  stars  may  show  by  the  host  of  them, 
And  more— for  mark  you  right  there 

Is  Beauty  supersensuous  fair 
Above  any  star-sparkle  glow, 

Beyond  where  the  wheels  of  planets  go! 


490  One  Great  Man 

Soul,  and  you  see  the  size  of  it, 

Never  the  hands  and  eyes  of  it; 
Body,  so  passing  small. 

Feeble  as  flies  in  a  hungry  squall; 
Soul,  as  all  space  is  great. 

Body  out  of  keeping  and  date; 
So  comes  this  clean  conviction  to  you : 

They  are  not  one  and  the  same,  these  two, 

For  look  to  my  small  Broadway  chap: 

The  face,  how  pale  it  is  by  the  light 
Of  a  shop  lamp,  under  his  cap 

And  he  looks  in — how  the  shop  is  bright — 
Pudding-day,  while  there  he  looks 

Now  the  steam  whistles,  treacle  cooks 
For  corn-dodgers,  celery-stem — 

What  would  he  give  for  a  bite  of  them! 

Cold — which  he  minded  not  of; 

Shelter — he  thought  of  no  other 
In  all  his  palace  of  love 

But  for  the  one  pink  infant  brother 
And  helpless  little  patient  mother — 

So  the  winds  might  whistle  above. 
Bite  his  cheek  like  a  moccasin  bites — 

Such  hearts  are  proof  against  ugly  nights. 

Did  he  get  a  dollar  for  a  day. 

All  of  it  must  go  for  them, 
For  her  and  her  tiny  flower-stem, 

"All  for  them,"  so  he  would  say. 
So  starved  his  throat,  yet  fed  such  heart 

As  men  make  light  of,  such  Godful  part 
As  puts  up'  fingers  and  eyes 

Beyond  the  whole  sweep  of  crimson  skies. 


One  Great  Man  491 

One  day  came  his  defeat, 

His  seventh  day,  so  't  was  said. 
Of  never  morsel  to  eat, 

For  there  must  be  breath  and  bread 
For  child  and  mother  in  bed, 

So  large  was  his  soul  and  sweet. 
So  superhumanly  wrought 

As  never  to  think  of  himself  a  thought. 

The  hour  was  at  one  with  dusk, 

Like  his  day  he  was  come  to  a  stop — 
One  tilt  of  the  head,  one  little  husk 

As  there  at  the  curb  they  saw  him  drop 
Face  to  the  lamp  in  his  pudding-shop ! 

Just  a  last  word,  like  one  living  gem 
In  a  dying  diadem: 

"All  's  right — all  for  them." 

In  the  world  are  many  great  men. 

Greatness  which  comes  and  goes. 
Nor  footprint  puts  in  the  crossing  snows — 

Copy  it,  you  shoals  of  men 
Who  shovel  for  what  is  small, 

Think  your  belly  the  Lord  and  all ! — 
Here  was  a  great  man  as  nature  goes 

And  the  good  God  knows! 


HEREAFTER 


See  my  man  in  his  cuticle-coat, 

His  high  thought  just  to  grow  to  bloat 
His  rib  up  to  stuff  the  coat ! 

He  lived  in  his  pretty  suburb-spot, 
Cascades  moulded  one  silver  river 

Which  made  the  great  sun  dance  and  quiver, 
Trees  were  wild  in  his  garden-plot ; 

Never  was  such  another  villa 
For  blossoms  of  poke  and  prune, 

Flowers  in  branches  of  vanilla 
To  turn  a  whole  year  into  June, 

Cockrobins  to  put  whistle 
To  purple  snapdragon  or  thistle. 

Tripods  of  trillium  and  grape 
To  give  the  sunbeams  color-shape — 

Under  grass-bank  or  over  lawn 
Flew  his  eagles,  flew  spotted  fawn, 

Flew  his  fountains  in  air — 
'Round  him  was  all  garden-care 

To  kindle  eyes,  stuff  his  pelt. 
Make  his  last  wish  topple  to  melt. 

II 

My  gentleman  took  this  world  in  tow. 
Knew  a  light  way  to  capture  coin 

By  small  labor  of  brain  or  loin, 

Knew  what  most  men  try  to  know, 
492 


Hereafter 

One  velvety  way  a  man  may  go 

To  get  what  most  this  one  world  offers, 
Capital  tricks  for  filling  coffers 

To  ripen  the  eye,  sweeten  the  tongue 
To  fat  his  cheek  just  to  keep  him  young — 

As  if  a  world  to  be  got  made  the  thing, 
Not  such  mammoth  efforting 

As  puts  a  man  to  be  tried,  to  be  more 
For  mightful  as  the  eagles  soar! 

Never  he  lacked  in  the  world  his  way, 
Never  he  lost  a  point  to  make 

Moly  out  of  garden-clay 
To  rub  out  wrinkles,  stop  an  ache, 

So  that  way  were  gathered  to  him 
Ankledom,  belly-vim, 

Majesty  of  rump  and  limb, 
He  high  master  to  make  most 

Of  what  other  men  played  for  and  lost 
By  changing  gold  into  gems  and  jelly 

To  blush  his  eye,  proud  his  belly. 
How  he  prospered  one  could  see 

By  such  his  equanimity 
As  calms  the  look  of  glutted  sheep 

Once  they  knuckle  under  to  sleep. 

Ill 

One  daughter,  nineteen  barely, 

Was  sole  companion  to  him ;  his  stay. 
His  comforter  she  was  each  day, 

So  much  so  't  was  never  or  rarely 
We  saw  them  separate — like  one  they  were  grown 

Daughter  and  father  there  alone 
In  his  topaz-palace,  she  to  make 

Each  day  May-day  for  his  sake. 


493 


494  Hereafter 

He  to  have  her,  his  vine  now  grown, 

His  clinging  blossom  and  all  his  own. 
They  two  just.     Evening  would  come 

Like  a  new  life  out  of  the  sky, 
One  deluge  of  worlds  chrysanthemum 

Or  tulip-colored  to  show  him  why 
Beauty  is  put  to  such  endless  change : 

To  take  new  shape,  loftier  range. 
Evening  would  come,  there  they  would  sit 

Under  the  moon  to  wonder  at  it, 
At  all  Heaven,  what  it  all  meant, 

Such  Beauty  beyond  wonderment 
As  looked  to  them  by  a  single  star 
'  So  perfect  and  so  passing  far 

As  by  no  cunning  may  be  caught 

At  the  threshold  of  any  thought — 
There  she  would  mind  him  of  many  things 

He  seemed  to  do  no  thinking  of, 
As  how  the  very  stars  grew  wings, 

Lived  their  light  out  and  were  off 
To  new  purpose,  mightier  meaning 

Clean  beyond  any  human  gleaning — 
As  how  men  too  are  made  for  moulding 

Spirit  out  of  body,  just  as  you 
See  a  star  through  the  eons  folding 

White  light  in  its  breast,  till  fruitful  new 
Rose-light  be  bom  or  tea-weed  blue 

To  take  the  star-shape,  star-wink  too, 
Just  to  hand  such  Beauty  to  you. 

IV 

"Dear  father,"  she  would  say,  "you  make  too  much 
Of  pod-life,  of  plumful  earth! 


Hereafter  495 

Only  what  you  may  taste  or  touch 

You  hold  good  enough,  labor  worth. 
Yonder  frolics  your  spotted  fawn, 

See  how  he  ambles  and  dances, 
Or  your  aquamarine-tree  prances 

As  you  get  glutted  looking  on 
At  what  you  may  touch  to  see, 

Think  it  highest  sublimity 
Of  what  may  be  reached  to  be  got — 

Never  you  look  to  the  thing  which  is  not 
To  be  seen  nor  tasted  nor  smelt, 

Has  nor  diaphragm  nor  pelt, 
Not  a  knuckle  to  be  felt. 

Yet  is  of  us  and  around  us 
To  enrapture  and  confound  us. 

One  out-of-sight  Beauty,  ever  expanding, 
Ever  beyond  all  understanding. 


"Father  dear,  there  is  more 
Than  copper  joint,  bismuth  ore. 

More  than  your  almond  trees 
Putting  lips  up  to  suckle  breeze, 

More  than  the  mortal  best  of  these, 
More  in  me,  more  of  you 

Than  pink  blood  or  ambigu 
May  compass,  may  try  to  do. 

To  find  it  you  shall  look  around. 
Look  beyond  your  hunting-ground — 

Soul  is  not  measured  by  the  pound!" 

VI 

One  day  he  looked  for  her — the  pretty  lip 
Of  coral,  her  morning'^cheek 


40  Hereafter 

Which  dimpled  as  if  trying  to  speak, 

Her  hand  so  Hke  her  Hlac-strip — 
Listened  for  her,  the  melody-pitch 

Her  voice  took,  her  singing  words 
Playing  among  the  bugle-birds 

Till  he  scarce  noticed  which  was  which — 
Called  for  her  across  his  lawn 

She  danced  between  the  robins  on — 
Begged  for  her:     Oh  come  again, 

Just  as  you  were  once  bright  and  round 
As  any  blossom  could  be  found 

Or  moon  at  its  meridian — 
Oh  come  again,  your  flowers  are  waiting 

To  have  you  back, 
Honey-flies  in  the  sun  are  skating 

Each  purple  track. 
Your  quince  and  olive  tree  stand  reaching 

Such  palms  to  you 
As  if  the  soul  of  them  were  beseeching 

The  charms  of  you — 
Oh  come  again  as  once  you  were  quaffing 

May-breath  of  aloe 
To  put  your  young  eyes  dancing,  laughing 

Like  leaps  of  a  swallow — 
Yet  was  she  nowhere  there  for  him, 

Called  he  never  so  kindly — 
Looked  he  never  so  blindly 

To  know  her  only  by  check  and  limb. 
As  if  the  best  of  her,  after  all. 

Were  the  amber  neck,  satin  spall. 
Her  lips  to  which  he  could  fly  or  call ! 

Nevermore!     Only  now  she  lay 
At  her  couch  her  faded-flower- way. 

Little  left  of  her  more  to  tell 


Hereafter  497 

What  she  was  once — there  she  lay- 
Like  a  wounded  swan  at  bay, 

So  white,  only  a  lip  of  chalk, 

Scarce  a  breath  of  her  to  talk, 

One  withered  lily  on  a  stalk! 

VII 

"Dear  father,"  she  said,  "look  you  to  see 
How  little  now  is  left  of  me 

Your  way  of  looking  for  bloom  or  such, 
A  throat  to  listen  to,  to  touch! — 

There  's  my  poor  last  of  an  arm 
Now  has  lost  its  pretty  charm 

Down  to  each  shadow  of  each  palm ; 
Body  goes  slowly  leaving  me, 

Yet  is  there  as  much  of  me 
As  ever  to  feel  and  to  be 

My  soul  to  keep  my  love  of  thee. 
To  show  this  body  may  come  to  go, 

Yet  plants  the  soul  for  you  to  know 
All  as  it  ever  was — see,  I  am  not 

More  than  map  or  body-plot 
Of  what  I  was  once,  there  you  and  I 

Sought  to  unravel  the  evening  sky 
To  know  what  a  wink  of  it  meant, 

Such  order  and  no  blunderment, 
Such  Beauty  and  all  wonderment — 

Or  such  a  morning  as  that  one  was 
We  tugged  at  a  stream  to  see  the  sun 

Angle  foi  trout  by  his  silver  thread 
Of  a  thousand  yellow-baited  claws, 

Bobs  of  blue-light  to  shoot  and  run 
32 


498  Hereafter 

Into  violet  or  poppy-red 

As  there  we  saw  the  pickerel  flew 
To  dash  such  sprays  against  the  sun 

As  broke  into  every  kind  of  blue 
And  scarlet  and  the  thing  was  done : 

For  so  he  took  the  pure  white  light 
Sky  dropped,  gave  it  one  twitch  and  mix, 

Then  sent  it,  for  all  his  might. 
Into  sparks  of  color  and  flight — 

There  's  this  life  at  its  best  of  tricks ! 

"Look  no  more  for  me 
By  your  yonder  lawn. 
Nor  by  my  blossom-tree 
When  I  am  gone — 
Look  not  about  your  place 
Of  cinnamon-bowers 
To  think  to  see  my  face 
Among  the  flowers — 
More  is  to  think  and  see 
Than  you  live  upon, 
More  to  be  grown  to  be 
Beyond  your  lawn 
Of  fountain  and  fawn — 
God  gave  me  soul. 
My  part  of  the  whole, 
I  to  give  it  shape. 
Elbow  and  nape, 
Mould  it  to  form 
Out  of  sun  and  storm 
By  my  way  of  Right, 
By  my  heel  of  Might, 
I  to  shape  it  so 
I  come  to  see 


Hereafter  499 

More  is  to  hope  and  be 

Than  men  may  know ! 

Look  not  for  me 

You  touch  and  see 

When  I  am  gone — 

No  more  my  pace 

Over  yonder  lawn, 

My  morning  face 

To  look  upon — 

My  little  race 

After  joy  and  place 

Is  past  and  gone — 

Look  you  for  me 

You  may  not  see ; 

Have  not  a  care 

Lest  I  be  not  there 

In  the  sunbeam-air. 

My  place  I  have  known 

To  which  I  have  grown 

Which  is  everywhere 

To  be  all  I  may 

By  my  different  day, 

By  my  higher  way — 

Look  for  me  not 

By  our  pondhole  spot 

Where  my  supplejack  climbs 

Out  of  spring-bclls  and  thymes  — 

Are  there  not  moon  and  sun 

To  build  upon? 

Is  there  no  way  to  see 

What  men  may  be? 

Watch  how  sunshine  light 

Shows  only  white 

Ere  once  it  leaps  to  throw, 


500  Hereafter 

Through  cloud  or  snow, 

Pink  to  olive-amber  glow 

To  hold  you  so — 

See  where  skyland  light 

Makes  only  white 

Till  now  it  plunges  through 

My  gem  of  fire  or  dew, 

Gives  me  rocket-blossom  blue; 

Pierces  yonder  star 

Like  a  shooting  spar 

To  take  such  tint  and  shape 

As  put  the  world  agape! 

Ah,  but  there  's  your  rock 

Sun  ma}^  not  puncture. 

Gives  only  jolt  and  shock 

Right  at  the  juncture, 

Casts  its  nothing-shadow 

Across  my  meadow ! 

Soul  would  pierce  you  through, 

Get  a  shape  by  you, 

Other  higher  Beauty  too 

Than  any  pink,  any  blue. 

Form  to  have  and  to  hold. 

And  man  the  mould ! 

Soul  is  everywhere,    . 

For  you  your  share 

To  let  it  through 

One  life  of  you 

To  take  nobler  shape 

Than  shin  and  nape. 

To  capture  more  of  you 

Than  pink  or  blue. 

Capture  power,  cast, 

Which  shall  surelv  last 


Hereafter  501 

After  this  mould  is  gone 
Soul  grows  upon. 

"Play  nor  gier-eagle 
Nor  yelping  beagle, 
Nor  yet  the  solid  rock 
Which  tries  to  block 
Each  little  gentle  ray 
Picking  its  handsome  way 
Against  the  clay, 
Looking  for  drops  of  dew 
To  let  it  through. 
For  bubbles  of  glass 
To  let  it  pass 
Into  submarine  blue, 
Into  coral  stripes — 
So  my  sunbeam  ripes! 

"Seek  me  not,  dear  father. 

By  your  muscadine- wall, 

Nor  where  stein-vines  gather 

New  plums  in  fall — 

Look  you  for  me  rather 

Where  my  lilies  drop 

At  autumn,  have  lost  their  prop — 

Only  Beauty  goes. 

Beauty  of  fig  and  rose ; 

Stalk  and  filemot-leaf  remain 

To  hug  mud-bank,  chamel-plain — 

Only  Beauty  goes  away. 

Only  that  which  is  best. 

Leaves  pot-house  of  clay. 

Punk  and  the  rest — 


502  Hereafter 

Beauty  goes,  the  rest  stays, 
Tumbles  and  decays. 

"  Look  not  for  me 
You  hold  and  see,    ' 
But  only  for  what 
Makes  royalty 
Of  heart  and  thought, 
Makes  soul  to  be 
Beyond  body-lot. 
Transcendency 
Triumphant- wrought ! " 


IN  PRESTON 

Oh,  the  air  is  good  to-day! 

This  is  the  June  of  it,  my  friend; 
Heart-leap  is  the  game  to  play. 

Fig  and  mint  are  under  way. 
My  prune-tree  to  the  sweet  leaf-end. 

So  let  us  be  off  an  hour  or  two 
For  a  breath  to  take  and  a  thing  to  do! 

Over  yonder,  one  way  which 

We  go  to  snuff  the  apple-breath. 

There  should  run  one  meadow-ditch 
Nursing  a  bosomful  of  fitch 

Where  the  hawk  is  still  and  reasoneth 
As  I  reason  now  I  go  to  see 

What  change  has  come  in  my  ditch  and  me 

Since  I  was  boy  here — you  know 

How  quick  the  years  step  in  and  out 

And  drag  you  with  them— well,  so 
I  was  boy  here  such  long  ago. 

Knew  the  wild  tree-tribe  'round  about. 

Yet  now  could  scarce  find  a  way  to  tell 

My  swamp-apple-swamp  or  puff-ball  bell. 

Comes  each  thought  like  June  winds  do 
To  waft  me  back  again  to  then 

When  each  bottle-bird  for  you 

Diamonded  his  wings  in  dew, 

503 


504  In  Preston 

Blew  the  same  song  again  and  again, 

As  if  he  feared  you  might  up  and  go 
If  he  changed  his  tune,  so  kept  on  so. 

Let  us  take  the  pasture-wa\' ! 

How  I  used  to  drive  our  cattle 
By  just  this  path,  just  this  day 

Everything  had  a  thing  to  say: 
There  was  each  evening-frog-pond  prattle, 

My  game-cock  to  pipe  on  Lantern  Hill 
As  if  his  throat  were  a  broken  quill. 

This  my  uncle's  acre-lot 

I  got  flowers  in,  cylinder  flax, 

Bubbles  of  forget-me-not, 

Each  flower  sweet  and  wild  I  got, 

Treed  the  bob  white  in  his  tracks, 

Trailed  my  bee  to  his  purple  thistle 

To  join  him,  help  him  pump  and  whistle. 

Did  it  ever  come  to  you 

How  much  they  are,  those  wonder-days 
We  left  behind  for  a  view 

Of  the  world  to  try  to  do 
Loyaler  things  by  royaler  ways, 

And  now  to  look  back  to  think  of  them, 
Beauty  for  king  in  a  clover-stem 

I  dance  about,  wonder  at, 

Bow  and  bend  to  it  just  the  way 

I  might  to  king  or  caveat, 

While  what  I  see  you  longing  at 

Is  to  be  like  one  of  these  one  day 

That  beckon  so  to  you  from  the  grass 

By  pink  fingers,  will  not  let  you  pass. 


In  Preston  505 

Just  this  corner  of  a  wall 

Is  where  I  waited  once  for  her 
Who  loved  to  come  to  my  call — 

Now  the  sun  began  to  fall, 
Now  we  were  under  this  fir, 

And  just  to  think  of  it,  such  love  then 
As  never  comes  in  the  world  again! 

See  how  the  shadows  will  play 

Forever  so  across  my  field ! 
Stop  to  think  of  it  how  they 

Never  had  a  word  to  say, 
A  flower  to  hand  you,  crop  to  yield. 

Yet  always  this  shadow  stays  with  men: 
Youth  comes  never  in  life  again, 

To  show,  and  I  hold  it  true, 

Dark  makes  nothing,  has  no  power 
To  hand  an  atom  to  you 

As  sun  does  by  his  flame  and  dew. 
Look  how  yonder  Euphorbia  flower 

Strikes  white  and  green  like  swords  of  grass 
To  cut  through  the  shadows  as  they  pass 

So  you  shall  harbor  no  thought 

Of  any  shadow  any  way, 
A  thing  which  is  wholly  not, 

Never  could  have  had  a  day, 
For  have  you  not  taken  thought 

To  look  your  yondermost  where  there  fly 
No  shadows  across  the  blue-born  sky? 

So  I  say  I  hold  it  true 

Darkness  in  the  heart  is  for  what 


5o6  In  Preston 

Shows  the  bright  white  vSoul  of  you 
For  more  yet  you  shall  be  and  do 

Than  heart  has  hoped,  than  men  have  thought, 
And,  just  as  I  trusted  that  day  then, 

I  shall  have  my  first-born  love  again. 

See  this  here,  my  sorrow-plot, 

Their  quiet  garden  where  they  lie 

In  ribbons  of  forget-me-not 

Who  left  me  their  love  for  what 

Is  foremost  and  is  not  to  die — 

See  how  my  orange  nigella  grew 

To  prick  the  mist  and  shadow  through ! 

Oh,  friend,  for  a  breath  of  June! 

Come  with  me  now  the  fields  are  wet, 
Dew-balls  waiting  for  their  moon. 

Wrens  to  put  the  air  in  tune. 
Song  to  the  clapping  of  castanet. 

And  we  be  ofl[,  just  I  and  you, 
For  a  breath  of  it,  as  we  used  to  do! 


ROSY  WEIGELIA 

Last  night  only,  just  there  at  her  gate, 

Such  beautiful  night, 

A  whole  moon  out  bright, 
I  was  sure  to  be  eager,  stay  late, 
Linger  so  long  as  the  moon  would  wait. 

Under  her  catalpa  tree 

She  was  waiting  as  I  came; 
I  knew  she  was  waiting  for  me. 

All  as  I  know  my  either  name; 
I  knew  I  was  all  her  thought, 

I  knew  I  was  what  she  said, 
Wholly  her  trusting  trusted  Fred, 

While  a  man  in  the  world  was  not 
For  her  in  my  place  instead. 

A  king-robin  in  a  plum-tree  dropped 

Into  such  a  new  tune 

To  the  harking  moon 
As  never  I  thought  was  heard  or  topped 
Since  man  by  a  taste  of  sweet  was  stopped. 

As  now  at  her  gate  I  stood, 

The  moon  struck  in  through  the  leaves  between. 
Mottled  her  frock  a  new  gold  and  green. 

Pushed  at  her  eyelids,  tried  to  intrude 
Where  soul  hides — I  saw  her  look 

The  other  way,  as  if  she  took 
The  moon  for  a  robber-rook. 
507 


5o8  Rosy  Weigelia 

Life  is  plenty,  once  anyone  knows 

How  to  lay  his  plan 

Like  a  gullet-man 
To  get  the  most — but  stroke  your  nose 
To  take  a  thought,  lest  3'^ou  trip  your  toes! 

Most  men  scramble  for  what  is  most, 

Few  men  think  of  their  best, 
Seldom  or  never  to  boast 

Of  the  battlesome  breast 
Which  brought  them  to  time  to  be  men, 

Makes  a  man  over  again — 
Power  to  yotir  elbow  and  you 

By  your  struggle  to  do! 

All  by  her  smile  I  could  clearly  see 
She  watched  for  me  now 
From  her  moonbeam-brow 

Close  to  her  small  Weigelia-tree 

Just  to  be  thinking  only  of  me. 

Now  I  was  there  at  her  lap, 

Now  at  her  eyes  with  my  sigh; 
Life  was  a  wing  and  its  flap 

And  I  heart-ready  to  die 
For  love  of  her,  now  I  knew 

She  was  for  me  so  soulful-true 
As  taught  me  once  for  all  to  smother 

Thought  that  she  could  think  of  another. 

Prettily  true  her  missel-bird  sung 

Of  a  soul  he  had 

Which  was  dancing  glad 
As  flowers  in  his  dew-tree  o\'erhung 
Like  evening  bells,  till  I  thought  they  rung. 


Rosy  Weigelia  509 

I  was  not  looking  to  her  so 

For  soul  supremity  of  thought — 
Love  has  a  way  of  its  own  to  go, 

While  what  I  think  of  it  matters  not 
So  I  and  the  one  I  love  be  one, 

So  I  play  my  part  and  I  have  won, 
So  the  prime  high  problem  of  life  be  done, 

To  wit,  that  I  and  my  love  be  one. 

Hark  to  the  lark  in  his  trees  above, 

His  song-about-leap 

For  a  soul  to  keep 
For  just  his  way  to  gurgle  and  love — 
One  life,  one  song  for  him  is  enough! 

In  all  the  country  'round 

Was  only  the  one  Weigelia-bush 
In  her  pretty  Oregon-ground — 

Of  this  she  gathered  a  single  strip, 
Put  it  in  my  coat-lap — so! — 

Red  was  the  flower  as  her  flower-lip, 
By  which  she  would  have  me  know 

Love  was  tied  in  her  bosom  so 
As  never  to  fail  me,  never  to  go. 

Next  day  evening,  to  tell  above  all, 

I  was  off  the  way 

Of  a  popinjay 
To  tune  my  step  to  the  village  ball. 
Our  May-Moth  dance  at  the  Town-House  hall, 

My  care,  above  all,  to  be  seen 

In  pipe-stem  hat,  coat  bottle-green, 


5IO  Rosy  VVeigelia 


My  valiant  map-of-war  vest 

To  dance  in  to  strike  liveliest — 
Care  to  be  noticed  of  her, 

Thought  of  my  throat,  of  my  jasper  pin 
To  stick  it  at  right  angles  in, 

Of  each  twitch  down  to  each  footfall  stir 
For  my  best  strut,  and  all  for  her — 

One  last  touch  of  taste,  so  I 
Could  command  her  longest  sigh, 

So,  snug  in  my  buttonhole  lip 
I  tucked  her  rosy  Weigelia-slip 

For  only  that  she  should  see 
Her  one  place  in  the  heart  of  me, 

When— 

Now  for  the  courage  men  must  grow 

For  power  to  stand 

In  perfect  command 
Of  each  little  pallor-look  or  glow 
If  they  see  their  idols  snap  and  go — 

For  there  at  the  ball  I  was  one  of  sev^en — 

There  might  have  been  more,  twice  eleven, 
But  this  I  know,  I  counted  seven 

Of  those  of  us  who  hovered  about 
Her  light  laugh  and  dimple-pout 

As  if  our  day  were  come  and  gone. 
Nothing  now  worth  our  thinking  on, 

Since  each  one  told  the  one  anecdote 
Of  how  he  thought  she  was  wholly  his 

As  a  sunbeam  to  a  jacinth  is. 
As  if  the  words  would  bite  out  his  throat — 

Her  strip  of  Weigelia  was  in  each  coat ! 


Rosy  Weigelia  511 

Better  you  to  be  merry  never 

Than  you  clasp  the  bee 

For  his  mellidy 
To  hug  the  sting  of  him  forever ! 
She  stung  us  all — how  great,  how  clever! 


LIFE  IN  THE  WORLD 

How  love  the  world  so  for  what  it  is, 

Not  for  what  it  points, 
Much  as  to  love  a  precipice 

For  the  jag-oaks  and  ugly  joints 
And  not  for  the  pinnacle  it  points 

Where  sky  drops  worlds,  fire  anoints? 
You  love  not  the  precipice  less. 

But  more  the  yonder  mightiness 
Of  sky-peak,  giant  suns. 

Where  the  Dog-Star  winks,  Chameleon  runs! 
Somewhat  of  you  of  finer  touch 

Holds  from  loving  the  world  too  much, 
A  touch  to  show  there  is  more 

Ahead  always  than  went  before. 
Anyway  you  reason  it 

There  's  not  so  much  to  seize  in  it 
As  blindness  builds  and  sees  in  it, 

Your  world,  just  by  itself  alone 
And  no  after,  and  no  yonder-zone. 

See  how  the  best  of  it  is  cut  short: 
My  song-swallow  revels  in  his  sport, 

Music  is  his  bosom-forte, 
While  right  as  he  gave  me  his  master-note 

Night  whistled  and  the  Dog-Star  smote ! 

512 


Life  in  the  World  513 

My  rose  has  tucked  up  its  elbow  feather. 

As  if  proof  against  any  weather, 
While,  lo,  before  night  is  on, 

Just  a  touch  of  amber  sun 
Gives  it  the  withered  lip 

And  sudden  slip ! 
This  my  elegant  star- thistle, 

Plumes  of  reed  green  and  gay  yellow, 
Carries  a  cock-robin  for  a  whistle, 

A  bee-fly  for  a  play-fellow, 
Keeps  a  pocketful  of  venomy, 

Draws  swords  to  strike  an  enemy, 
While  just  one  gun-kick  out  of  a  sky 

And  my  flower-friend  is  going  to  die! 
My  boy-mate  and  mighty  friend, 

He  who  took  another  track 
Than  I  with  my  Love-of-Beauty  knack. 

Thought  the  life  he  had  was  an  end 
To  fly  to  to  ravish  and  circumtrend, 

So  made  him  his  castle,  built  him  for  fair 
His  spires  to  lick  the  glistening  air, 

Nor  saw  the  fingers  how  they  pointed 
Where  worlds  and  Beauty  are  conjointed. 

You  love  the  world,  you  think  you  do, 
For  a  thing  worth  flying  for  tying  to, 

Yet  is  it  not  the  half  of  you 
For  value,  for  high-mightiness, 

For  see  how  it  comes  to  less  and  less 
By  just  the  more  of  it  you  know, 

By  just  the  greatness  which  you  grow, 
You  glad  one  day  to  let  it  go 

For  having  gotten,  by  more  and  more, 
Size  to  you  and  spirit-prore. 

And  the  withered  body  is  no  more! 
33 


514  Life  in  the  World 

You  love  the  world?     Well  and  good ! 

We  make  no  quarrel  about  that ! 
Who  loves  not  the  trebling  chat, 

A  crossbill  in  his  silky  snood, 
Yonder  cloud  of  heliotrope 

Bundled  in  an  ochre  cope, 
My  qua-bird,  silent  as  a  pope 

To  look  so  as  if  he  knew 
More  than  the  knowing  soul  in  you? 

Who  would  not  dawdle  to  dream 
Hours  away  of  one  August  day. 

Flies  for  fellows,  by  any  stream 
Which  tickles  rocks  so  they  display 

Tall  feathers  of  silver  spray 
To  match  daylight,  defy  each  gleam 

Flashing  up  from  plunging  bream 
Where  woodruff  flowers,  May-flies  dip 

To  get  each  open  lavender  lip, 
While  you  take  the  tulip  for  its  pout, 

Take  the  best  of  all  about 
To  give  the  very  best  of  you  out? 

Who  does  not  love  his  flower 
To  see  in  it  another  power 

Counts  him  more  than  the  mortal  hour 
It  lived  and  died  in,  hands  up  to  each  sky 

As  if  never  the  flower  got  enough 
Of  wind-licks  or  the  ugly  cuff 

Which  mean  more  May-sweet  and  onyx  dye? 


Ah,  but  you  love  the  world,  you  say, 

For  the  God  in  it  and  monarch-play! 

Think  of  that  well  once  before  you 

Take  it  for  wholesomest  wholly  true 


r 


Life  in  the  World  515 

And  you  may  discover  the  God  in  you! 

My  sand-cricket  will  dance  in  the  sun, 
Yet  a  plover's  beak  is  the  thing  in  point, 

His  craw  is  empty,  is  out  of  joint, 
So  ere  his  pretty  dance  is  begun 

My  pretty  cricket  is  crippled  and  done. 
My  pigeon  of  the  mulberry  strip 

From  shoulder-joint  out  to  each  tij) 
Of  wing,  also  water-green  dye 

Which  matches  his  iris  hood  and  eye. 
His  song  only  the  one  low  sigh, 

And  there  I  must  let  him  slip 
To  death  in  an  anaconda's  grip! 

Ah — so  you  turn  against  the  thing! 
Yet  you  see  it  next  just  about, 

Nature's  grunt  and  junketing, 
Strength  putting  weakness  to  rout, 

A  tiger's  jaws  in  a  eweling's  throat 
Just  that  he  may  suck  blood  and  bloat ! 

You  do  not  love  the  thing?     Ah,  so! 
But  nature  made  it  that  way  once: 

Is  Nature,  then,  just  dotard-dunce 
Because  I  found  my  way  to  go 

Above,  beyond  it,  so  much  higher 
As  to  drop  off  every  blood-desire 

For  other  nobler  thing  to  think 
Than  potwise  ways  by  trick  and  kink? 

My  garden  will  grow  my  tree, 
While  there  in  the  top  of  it  I  shall  see 

One  flower  of  such  supremacy 
Of  white  with  blue  lines  inter-run 

I  wonder  how  the  thing  is  done 
Out  of  black  earth  and  carrion 

Till  I  look  up  to  the  monarch  sun. 


5i6  Life  in  the  World 

By  what  I  do  not  like  I  show 

Just  that  in  me  was  meant  to  grow 
Beyond  Nature  here  as  I  see  it, 

First  to  surpass,  last  to  flee  it, 
Quite  as  this  flower  has  over-topped 

The  mud-pool-patch  where  sweet  was  cropped 
Even  to  outspangle  the  imperial  sun 

By  blue  and  white  lines  inter-run! 


See  how  your  noblest  may  not  be  best. 

As  this  world  goes :  There  for  your  life 
Is  the  keen  sweetheart  and  pretty  wife, 

Yet  over  and  above  her,  east  or  west, 
There,  too,  the  clinging  patient  mother 

You  tie  to  more  than  any  other 
For  love  of  her — yet  is  it  best 

You  leave  her  to  join  another 
By  the  whip-royal  way  of  life. 

Get  you  the  new  blue-ribbon  wife, 
While  to  leave  her  who  never  left  you, 

To  put  another  in  her  place, 
Drop  her  aside,  as  you  will  do. 

Hurts  hard  enough  in  any  case. 
Is  never  your  highest  heart  in  you. 

Or  look  how  you  live  life  in  the  main 
For  what  's  to  come  out  of  it,  a  gain 

Of  some  sort,  a  way  to  glue 
More  pie-cheek  and  jowl  to  you. 

To  reach  for  glory  and  power. 
For  the  honey-suck  of  an  hour. 

While  all  the  days  the  more  you  do 
For  not  a  little  thought  of  you 

But  only  to  be  kind  and  true 


Life  in  the  World  517 

Brings  finer  glory  into  view, 
Nobler  soul  to  be  flying  to. 

Nature  will  push  out  the  weak, 

Fling  it  aside  as  bubbishy, 
Nothing  worth  or  rubbishy — 

Soul  takes  another  voice  to  speak, 
And,  all  in  spite  of  this  life-wise  art. 

Gathers  her  weaklings  to  her  heart 
To  show,  as  I  said  before, 

As  I  say  again  and  again. 
There  goes  more  of  me,  skyfuls  more 

Than  I  may  suck  out  of  wind  and  rain. 
Out  of  Sims  or  worlds  or  laws 

By  any  trick  of  brain  and  paws, 
One  part  of  me  which  mightily  grows 

To  where  Beauty  ripes  and  no  man  knows, 
Like  as  this  mud-heap  flies  a  rose. 

Under  a  brow  of  sky 

With  a  moon  for  an  eye 

My  Rosalie  died — 

Never  I  heard  her  sigh. 

Both  pale  eyes  open  wide 

And  she  looked  so  straight  above 

As  if  she  saw  her  way 

In  the  clear  other  day 

Of  loftier  love. 

Of  untangled  play 

Of  sweet  spirit  to  go 

Beyond  what  men  know 

Of  life  and  love  and  power 

And  the  snap-shot  hour. 


5i8  Life  in  the  World 

How  in  our  playmate-days 

We  were  one  together 

Through  scallopy  bays 

In  our  sun-born  weather 

Just  to  leap  and  laugh 

Like  free  idle  chaff 

In  the  wind-warm  days 

Of  June — and  now  gone, 

Life  over  and  days  done, 

She  so  willing  to  go, 

Had  done  her  best 

To  greaten  to  know, 

By  each  hard-time  test, 

Soul  was  meant  to  grow 

And  to  leave  the  rest 

Of  the  world  below. 

She  died,  as  I  have  said, 

In  her  moonbeam-bed, 

Such  pale  fingers  reaching 

For  their  aster  gems. 

Like  water-lily  stems 

Parched  and  bleaching — 

Looked  as  if  she  saw 

In  the  blue  high  air 

New  worlds  out  there 

Worth  dying  for. 

She  died  as  the  great  die. 

Knew  the  what  of  it,  the  why 

There  's  no  need  to  sigh 

For  what  is  best  put  by. 

This  world  when  life  is  through 

For  more  to  struggle  to 

The  way  all  spirit  knows 

By  how  it  grows. 


Life  in  the  World  519 

Each  day  to  come  to  more 

Than  ever  before, 

Each  year  to  see  what  blue 

Lapwing  or  forest  grew, 

See  body  get  its  growth. 

Field-flower  its  blowth. 

But  never  the  soul 

To  look  to  an  end, 

To  know  any  goal, 

Any  final  friend, 

Always  the  heavens  too  small 

For  this  soul  of  all 

To  compass  an  end, 

And  so  she  looked  that  night — 

There  a  certain  light 

Of  another  sight 

Lay  in  her  eyes. 

Of  a  depth  and  height 

More  than  lifely-wise. 

More  than  mortal  bright — 

There  came  one  look  to  me 

Of  love  I  shall  see 

When  my  day  is  done 

And  my  view  begun 

Beyond  what  men  think 

In  a  summer  wink. 

Beyond  what  they  know 

Of  a  summer  glow. 

Beyond  where  they  run, 

And  I  take  my  view 

In  the  endless  blue 

Beyond  any  sun — 

Just  her  one  look  to  me 

Of  such  knowing  thought 


520  Life  in  the  World 

So  supremely  wrought 

Of  Beauty,  and  I  could  see 

Only  her  Majesty 

Of  soul  which  took  to  flight 

Out  of  touch,  out  of  sight, 

But  never  out  of  heart, 

Never  out  of  me. 

Always  my  other  part, 

Always  my  Rosalie, 

As  the  rich  moon  is  there. 

Nevermore  to  touch. 

Evermore  to  share 

Her  light,  none  like  it  such, 

Her  Beauty,  none  like  it  fair, 

Evermore  and  everywhere. 

Love  you  the  world  to  take  it 

For  only  what  it  is, 
For  just  what  you  may  make  it, 

And  the  upshot  of  it  this: 
More  is  of  you  than  you  may  do 

Or  think  to  feel  or  travel  to 

By  one  life,  if  you  only  knew? 

Mark  the  sky-kaleidoscope 

Of  worlds  and  suns  and  power 
Mixing  blush  and  heliotrope 

With  prune-blue  every  hour 
Of  change!     How  they  break  up,  blow  new  flame, 

A  new  shuffle  just  the  constant  game. 
Yet  Beauty  there  forever  the  same ! 

Love  you  the  world  to  keep  it? 
Not  so,  my  friend — your  way 


Life  in  the  World  521 

Makes  that  you  more  than  reap  it, 

You  take  it  for  a  day 
To  grow  in,  as  you  grew  your  flowers 

Between  the  sprinkle  of  stars  and  showers, 
To  come  to  Beauty  beyond  all  Powers. 


EUNICE 

How  the  grasses  in  each  gentle  sod 

Bend  like  fingers  to  point  to  me, 
Then  straighten  to  point  to  God, 

As  if  they  try  to  have  me  see 
I  am  one  with  eternity! 

That  way  I  think  when  the  sun  goes  down, 

Seems  to  have  gone  so  far  away 
There  never  might  come  another  day 

To  drop  its  light  on  grass  and  town, 
While  yet  I  know  this  earth  only  runs 

One  moment  between  me  and  steeples  of  suns. 

I  wonder,  Eunice,  do  you  remember 

Such  an  afternoon  as  that 
In  the  first  quarter  of  September 

We  treed  the  canticle  of  a  chat 
At  the  elbow  of  your  orchard  wall 

Ringing  to  us  his  loudest  call. 
Singing  as  if  his  soul  were  all ! 

I  wonder,  too,  do  you  now  think 

Of  one  August  noon — our  pond-hole  ditch 
We  clung  to,  we  watched  at  the  brink 

The  pickerel  at  his  slip  and  twitch, 
While  'round  us  was  all  summer  air, 

All  'round  us  never  cloud  of  care! 
522 


Eunice  -523 

What  I  would  have  said,  who  knows? 

Down  in  the  grass  the  flowers  were  ripe; 
I  stooped  and  pulled  the  pinkest  rose 

That  ever  wore  cheek  or  stripe; 
You  hung  it  in  your  hair  to  pitch 

Where  the  cheek  was  ripe  as  the  pink  was  rich — 
Who  could  have  ever  told  which  was  which? 

Such  another  day  came  what 

Comes  never  ever  to  be  forgot, 
Your  hand  to  hand  me  this  ivy  flower, 

Which  I  have  kept  so  where  it  clings, 
And  I  know  all  the  thought  it  brings 

In  one  small  hand  of  such  mighty  power, 
Just  one  withered  tiny  flower 

To  follow  me  the  long  years  through. 
One  day  to  bring  me  back  to  you. 

Or  in  one  evening  under  cover 

Of  so  many  worlds  for  troops  of  light 

I  was  one  one-hearted  lover. 

Kept  your  true  face  close  in  sight 

To  envy  the  moon  which  was  there 

At  your  new  cheek  and  gentle  hair. 

Did  life  go  hard  with  me  in  places, 

Have  I  tried  many  thoughts  in  turn, 

Looked  for  the  old  hearts  in  new  faces, 

Found  how  the  Furies  chop  and  chum, 

Through  all  of  it  the  long  way  through 
Always  my  soul  went  back  to  you. 

So  young  we  were  parted! 

That  one  day 
Will  never  from  my  eyes  away, 


524  Eunice 

The  day  I  saw  you  my  last, 
Looked  back  to  you  where  you  stood 

By  your  anglerod-wood 
In  your  ivy-leaf  hood, 

Waved  to  me  up  the  road, 

Gave  me  your  smile,  while  yet 

The  smile  held  such  heavy  load 
As  I  am  never  to  forget. 

Such  hope-broken  look  of  plea. 

While  scarcely  I  could  look  to  see 

For  all  the  darkness  was  in  me. 

So  were  we  cut  asunder ! 

Who  shall  say  it  was  blunder? 
Life  is  wonder  upon  wonder 

That  so  much  seems  to  go  wrong 
And  we  come  out  of  it  tall  and  strong! 

Each  one  to  his  cloud  and  clay 
As  each  blossom  fights  a  way 

To  poke  up  through  the  earth 
All  kinds  of  supremest  worth. 

So  many  years  are  done, 

So  many  things  are  wrought, 

But  not  since  that  Sunday  sun 
Were  you  ever  once  forgot. 

Or  farther  away  ever  from  me 

Than  soul  is — there  's  my  truth  I  see. 

Is  it  not  true  that  we  are  one? 

Yet  the  world  has  put  us  so  wide  apart 
Since  our  young  love  first  begun 

So  high  above  knowledge,  gold  and  art, 


Eunice  525 

I  look  about  and  I  see 

One  truth  everywhere  put  to  me: 
There  stands  no  Hmit  to  this  heart; 

For  'though  we  were  parted  and  you  went 

Your  way,  I  my  way  too, 
Played  the  high-minded  game  straight  through, 

Captured  prize  and  bafflement, 
And  we  were  lost  to  each  other  so  wide 

Where  all  things  have  lasted  while  man  has  died, 
Yet  are  lives  lost  so  fields  may  be  won, 

And  now  that  this  life  is  said  and  done. 
Are  we  not,  much  as  ever,  you  and  I,  one? 


IN  A  BELL-TOWER 

Bell-tower  times! 

Each  bell  he  smote 
Rang  out  one  bell-bosom  note 
In  galaxies  of  chimes 
Across  country — men  heard 
Each  ripple,  like  a  silver  word — 
They  thought :  What  is  it  that  sings 
As  if  each  bell  had  a  soul 
Bent  upon  some  super-goal, 
A  soul  just  of  bell  and  wings? — 
Not  once  you  thought  of  you, 
Only  of  the  trombone-air 
How  it  fingered  and  blew 
Into  song  from  everywhere — 
Yet  there  came  each  lilt  and  dole 
Told  us  of  another  soul 
They  came  from  somehow,  somewhere, 
To  drop  such  sweetness  in  the  air. 
Over  and  above  the  whole 
High  heaven  of  song  men  caught 
One  super-sense,  one  soul 
Which  must  have  wholly  wrought 
Such  keyboards  in  the  wind  that  day 
As  tempted  the  wild  storm  to  play 
At  lullaby  or  chant — 
Sweet  Heaven  seemed  to  throb  and  pant. 
526 


In  a  Bell-Tower  527 


Up  among  one  stack  of  bells 

In  a  tower,  so  my  story  goes, 

The  story  now  each  villager  tells 

For  what  he  heard,  as  best  he  knows, 

Lived  once — I  vouch  it  was  long  ago— 

A  dwarf  of  hunch-back  build — 

Crooked  he  was,  quog-shape  so, 

So  much  his  back  was  hilled. 

Cheek-bones  sticking  so  far  out 

Like  an  overpowering  pout. 

As  if  the  eyes  were  window-silled, 

Toady-like  to  a  touch. 

Low  limp,  hop-up  of  a  slutch 

For  slinking  by  half  a  crawl. 

Such  a  miserly  gait. 

His  lizard-look  over  him  all 

Like  a  sneer  and  grin  of  fate. 

Yet  one  would  wonder  to  see 

His  brow  was  rounded  as  broad 

As  the  forehead  of  a  God, 

One  heart-look  of  infinity 

Out  of  such  wondrous  eyes 

As  marked  him  part  of  divinity. 

Showed  him  overhuman  wise, 

As  if  they  swallowed  a  light 

Never  came  of  human  sight. 

This  was  the  bell-tower  man, 

Aspect  scarce  better  than 

Any  mud-bank  of  a  ditch — 

So  little  between  his  trip  and  hitch 

For  anyone  to  choose, 

I  might  think  the  devil  was  loose. 


528  In  a  Bell-Tower 

At  least  so  I  think  he  thought, 

So  measured  himself,  for  soon 

As  he  understood  for  what 

Men  took  him,  whatlikc  he  seemed, 

Aborted  monster  macaroon, 

Hideous  more  than  demons  dreamed. 

He  took  to  his  one  high  whim 

That,  take  him  for  limb  and  limb. 

This  world  was  not  meant  for  him. 

Never  was  he  made  to  strut 

More  than  crab  or  mariput ; 

Could  not  copy  elegance 

In  his  frogsome  circumstance; 

Pretty  maiden  would  not  look 

At  his  step  he  undertook 

To  shuffle  by  hook  or  crook ; 

One  by  one,  only  a  sigh, 

People  would  pass  him  by 

With  their  post  wiggle  or  shrug 

To  see  him  trundle  and  tug 

To  wind'ard  like  a  tumble-bug' — 

Pity,  perhaps,  which  was  all. 

Small  as  most  pity-size  is  small. 


II 


So,  since  he  could  not  be  of  it, 
Bound  was  he  to  be  above  it, 
This  world  with  its  mucilage-tricks 
Where  your  fly-man  licks  and  sticks- 
Somewhat  he  could  see  made  higher 
Than  this  animal  desire 
To  grow  feathers,  shape  each  limb 
To  prettiness,  court  one  whim 


In  a  Bell-Tower  529 

For  brain-work  to  compass  power 

To  gain  gain,  get  the  whole 

By  any  poverty  of  soul 

In  one  small  life  of  an  hour. 

How  to  be  out  of  the  world,  yet 

Be  of  it  wholly  enough 

To  give  it  his  best,  his  love. 

There  was  his  question-quodlibet ! 

Knew  he  well  he  could  not  be 

As  others  were,  could  not  do 

As  others  did,  could  not  see 

As  others  saw — his  was  only 

Life  all  masterful  and  lonely 

To  do  and  to  be  his  most, 

Die  soul-sovereign  at  his  post. 

Well  he  saw,  well  he  knew 

He  was  more  than  others  grew 

By  many  lives — deep  and  true 

His  heart  was,  so  his  soul 

Seemed  to  circumreach  the  whole 

Of  what  was  noblest  and  best, 

Something  inconceivably  blest. 

Look  you  your  list  of  men, 

You  will  not  see  such  soul  again. 

Much  he  had  in  him  to  do 

His  way,  not  your  way  nor  mine, 

A  soul  to  show  which  was  true, 

A  heart  which  was  half  divine, 

Till  his  thought  like  this  thought  grew: 

To  live  and  to  not  be  seen, 

To  find  him  a  way  to  hide 

Back  of  some  perfect  screen, 

Show  just  his  spirit-side. 

Men  to  forget  what  he  had  been 


530  In  a  Bell-Tower 

In  body-shape  and  claw, 

See  only  soul  worth  living  for. 

Ill 

How  to  rise  above  it, 
This  grouse-house  life  of  men, 
How  to  not  be  of  it, 
Yet  of  it  heart  and  ken 
To  sound  his  highest  word. 
To  let  his  soul  be  heard 
For  all  the  best  was  of  it, 
All  men  to  come  to  love  him 
For  more  than  skin  and  limb. 
For  just  the  soul  he  was. 
Nor  see  his  body-flaws? 

"Oh  for  a  life  in  yonder  cloud 

Where  the  stars  are  dumb  whose  heart  is  loud 

In  purple  voice  out  of  orange  lips 

Just  as  the  darkness  dips. 

That  I  might  be  as  they  are  there 

For  high  above  the  world  and  for  fair 

As  moon-tracks  where  my  spirit  walks, 

Where  eternal  silence  talks, 

One  cloud-life  for  one  evening  sail, 

To  come  and  go  and  to  never  fail 

Of  the  orange-spot,  purple  stripe 

Ripening  ever,  never  ripe. 

To  gather  sky  and  suns  and  moons 

Of  climax,  cycles  of  boons. 

Of  orange-light  so  I  let  it  fall 

Over  the  world  and  all ! 

Oh  for  my  cloud  to  float  upon 

After  this  conquered  world  is  gone! 


In  a  Bell-Tower  531 

My  light,  my  spirit  to  come  again 
My  cloud  is — 't  will  come  and  go 
In  purple  or  orange  glow 
Across  my  sky  forever  so 
Beyond  your  human  ken — 
Only  its  shadow  walks  with  men." 

A  church-bell  tower  in  his  village  stood 

One  furlong  away, 

A  tower  he  eyed  with  such  hungry  mood, 

While  people  would  say: 

"What  means  the  cripple:     Look  to  him  now 

At  his  plunge  and  hitch, 

Shrugging  to  make  his  shuffle  or  bow, 

One  never  knows  which. 

Always  an  eye  to  the  bell- tower  pinned 

As  if  he  would  rise. 

Like  one  who  one  day  dropped  and  sinned. 

To  capture  the  skies!" 

Till  one  would  ask,  "Why  so  is  your  mind 

In  the  bell-tower  there? 

What  purpose  now  has  your  heart  divined, 

Or  what  steeple-care?" — 

When  this  way  he  answered:   "I  would  be, 

So  far  as  I  may. 

Far  ofif  from  your  poor  proclivity 

Of  life  by  the  day 

To  ape  what  only  wallows  and  squirms 

By  the  body-trick. 

To  play  your  game  of  crows  and  worms 

To  tickle  and  pick! 

Look  what  cluster  of  singing  bells 

In  your  yonder  tower. 

Tongues  like  whirlwinds  of  lofty  spells 


532  In  a  Bcll-Towcr 

To  scatter  their  shower 

Of  song  in  yonder  grasses  among 

To  rapture  people, 

As  if  a  soul  were  in  every  tongue 

Of  the  tuning  steeple! 

High  in  your  tower  above  I  would  live 

To  brother  the  bells — 

They  unloose  their  heart,  neither  'but'  nor  'if,' 

There  the  lintie  swells 

His  throat  to  join  them  in  their  ringing 

Against  every  wrong, 

Like  all  the  world  were  up  and  flinging 

Its  soul  into  song. 

Carry  me  now,  oh  carry  me  there 

By  noble  hand. 

Build  me  my  nest  in  the  bell-tower  air 

Above  men  and  land, 

That  I  may  turn  my  soul  into  bells 

To  give  them  my  touch 

Shall  wake  a  thought  no  one  world  tells, 

No  song  like  it  such ! 

I  '11  shape  the  shape  of  your  bell-tower  tone 

Just  under  the  sky, 

My  life  I  '11  live  in  the  tower  alone 

To  the  end  that  I 

May  tell  my  heart  to  the  world  in  bells 

Just  behind  my  screen. 

May  send  my  soul  into  mountain  dells, 

I  never  be  seen. 

May  pin  my  soul  to  my  silver  word 

And  only  be  heard." 

IV 

So  they  took  the  cripple  up. 


In  a  Bell-Tower  533 

Put  him  in  their  bell-tower  cup, 
Took  him  at  his  honest  word 
He  should  never  more  be  seen, 
He  should  only  be  heard 
Back  of  his  bell-tower  screen, 
Soul-foremost  to  strike  the  air 
Into  sparks  and  spasms  of  song. 
Rouse  his  world  up  everywhere. 
By  rhapsody  of  his  silver  gong, 
To  Beauty,  just  Beauty  of  soul — 
There  's  high  life  at  its  highest  goal ! 


Now  in  his  tower  he  is  sitting, 

Evening  is  part  of  the  sky, 

Weary  men  too  are  sitting, 

Beginning  to  sleep  or  to  die, 

Beginning  to  wonder  what  life  is, 

What  the  value  of  strife  is, 

To  wonder  if  men  are  born 

Just  to  be  wrinkled  and  torn. 

To  wonder  if  soul  climbs  high 

Only  to  topple  and  die. 

When — now  he  was  touching  the  keys, 

Out  of  the  tower-top  shot 

More  than  men  ever  caught. 

Whirlwinds  of  harmonies. 

Keen  as  the  spark  of  a  star, 

Deep  as  all  heaven- ward  blue, 

Tones  of  an  infinite  far 

To  show  you  the  soul  in  you. 

Sounds  from  so  far  away 

Like  waves  on  another  shore. 


534  In  a  Bell-Tower 

Men  were  communing  to  say 

Never  was  music  before 

The  like  of  it  to  seize  the  heart, 

Such  was  its  sweet  great  masterpart, 

Such  its  new  bosom  of  power 

To  raise  men  to  what  is  high, 

They  saw  soul  never  could  die, 

They  never  doubted  of  life 

Or  the  value  of  strife, 

While  as  for  their  trust  and  longing 

They  found  in  his  gorgeous  gonging, 

Never  before  was  such  wonder-songing ! 


VI 


In  chapel  below  men  were  kneeling 

For  fear  of  a  God ; 

Women  were  ducking,  appealing 

By  qualmody,  quobbing  nod 

For  mercy,  for  assistance, 

For  the  glory  of  non-resistance, 

— How  the  world  is  ruled  by  a  rod  !- 

Their  noses  pinned  in  a  book, 

One  way  only  they  could  look, 

One  thing  only  the}''  could  see. 

What  power  is  in  Divinity, 

What  powerlessness  is  in  men 

To  do  or  to  think  to  be 

The  whole  of  human  supremity 

As  men  have  been  again  and  again! 

Now  in  a  cha'pel  for  a  jacket 

To  shut  Divinity  out. 

To  bow  down  to  it,  yet  to  lack  it, 

Each  man  over-full  of  doubt 


In  a  Bell-Tower  535 

Of  his  own  lordliness  of  power 

To  whip  a  universe  out, 

Each  one  doing  his  most  to  cower, 

Each  one  doing  his  best  to  squirm. 

Glorify  God  by  playing  worm, 

When — sudden  the  bells  were  singing 

Such  song  a  man  never  heard, 

All  the  wild  winds  were  ringing. 

Sky  over  sky  was  stirred. 

Leaf  leaped  to  leaf  in  the  hornet-briar, 

I  saw  the  throstle  duck  his  ear, 

Men  were  up,  all  hearts  were  higher. 

Men  were  up,  their  fight  was  clear 

Against  any  thought  of  God  for  fear — 

Men  were  up,  each  mellow  blow 

Of  the  bells  compelled  them  so — 

Of  the  bells — they  jumped  and  jolted 

Each  other  all  as  tongues  unbolted. 

But  how  they  jumbled  and  sang, 

Oh  how  they  tumbled  and  rang 

Their  souls  through  the  souls  of  men 

To  be  up,  to  be  Gods  again — 

Man  to  his  feet  to  stand  straight 

As  a  God  to  be  great — 

Man  to  his  heart  to  be  true 

And  to  hold  to  it  too — 

Man  to  his  finger  to  point 

And  to  go,  jaw  and  joint — 

Man  to  his  throat  to  declare 

What  is  uppermost  fair — 

Man  to  his  best  to  be  worth 

More  than  pebblesome  earth — 

Man  to  his  virtue  to  veer 

Bevond  shadow  of  fear — 


536  In  a  Bell-Tower 

Man  to  his  spirit  to  rise 
Over  grass-path  or  skies! 


So  rang  the  bells  as  there  sat  the  cripple 

Like  a  God  in  his  throne, 

To  let  his  whole  soul  boom  and  ripple 

Each  wonderment-tone 

Down  to  the  people  in  church  underneath 

Who  stopped  where  they  were, 

Stopped  short  of  the  wink  of  a  breath  to  breathe 

A  prayer  or  to  stir, 

So  were  they  captured,  so  raptured  so 

By  his  song-bird  spells 

Flinging  their  tongue-magic  to  and  fro 

Like  a  forest  of  bells. 

They  forgot  to  pray,  forgot  their  seasons 

For  ducking,  for  quobbing. 

They  took  no  note  of  those  ritual  reasons 

Men  have  for  throbbing, 

But  up  in  arms  for  love  of  Beauty 

As  now  they  heard  it. 

For  love  of  him  whose  love  of  duty 

Had  touched  and  stirred  it, 

There  they  were  brought  to  their  feet  for  straight 

As  Gods  are  to  rise, 

There  they  were  brought  to  themselves  to  be  great 

Beyond  men  who  are  wise. 

There  they  were  held  to  a  note  which  was  high 

As  the  upheaving  sky 

To  beckon  man  up  above  earth  to  be 

What  is  Godfullest  free. 

To  show  men  a  way  above  earth  to  do 

What  is  giantest  true 


In  a  Bell-Tower  537 

For  fear  of  nothing,  for  love  of  the  test 
Puts  men  to  their  best 
Like  my  cripple  now  in  his  bell-tower  there 
With  his  Beauty  of  soul,  his  body  of  care! 

VII 

Church  out,  the  people  gone, 

There  was  one  remained. 

One  village-girl,  whom  to  look  upon 

Man  would  think  his  Heaven  was  gained, 

Such  sweet  soul  of  such  countless  grace 

Nested  in  her  open  face 

As  a  man  would  not  chance  to  see 

Once  in  a  world  of  maidenry, 

Her  new  throat  each  word  in  it 

Like  the  revel  of  a  linnet. 

And  you  so  riveted  there 

By  each  lilt  of  her  and  air 

Signing  of  such  heart  underneath, 

Men  marvelled,  forgot  to  breathe — 

Fortune  might  come  or  go 

And  no  matter,  so  they  loved  her  so ! 

VIII 

The  bells  by  their  new  masterstroke 

Took  up  ringing  in  her  heart. 

As  if  their  chimody  meant  to  choke 

Soul  back — she  could  take  no  part 

In  pew-dance,  in  ducking  to  God; 

People  halted  to  mark  it  odd, 

Such  change  in  her,  she  so  changed 

As  clouds  are  gilded  and  rearranged 

When  the  sun  is  low  and  the  winds  have  changed — 


538  In  a  Bell-Tower 

What  was  to  think  of  her  now  she  grew 
To  listen  only  for  her  bells 
Whichever  way  each  sweet  wind  blew 
To  bring  her  their  masterly  spells, 
As  all  the  most  kind  watchful  people 
Remarked:  her  heart  is  in  the  steeple? 


IX 


Came  she  now  to  know  each  bell 
Harbored  more  than  tongue  could  spell, 
Knew  too  this,  how  each  fine  ripple 
Spoke  the  finger  of  a  cripple — 
"So  much  the  more  is  he  great," 
Thought  she  to  herself;  "shall  I  estimate 
My  man  by  his  fingers  and  toes, 
His  shoulder-shape,  his  way  he  goes. 
His  knuckledom  or  bobadil-whim, 
Not  by  what  he  is,  what  he  knows, 
Not  by  the  heart  and  soul  in  him? 
To  the  tower! — there  's  no  other  way 
— He  will  not  descend  to  earth  again — 
To  the  tower  where  his  fingers  play 
What  the  soul  of  a  world  would  say, 
'Never  God  made  a  thing  for  vain' — 
To  the  tower  in  yonder  air. 
To  the  mighty  soul  which  is  castled  there!" 


Evening  comes  around, 

Sky  is  on  the  ground, 

Stars  of  dew  in  meadow-grass  are  swinging, 

Bobolink  and  cricket  take  turns  at  singing 


In  a  Bell-Tower  539 

For  the  tulip  in  the  air, 
Mock-orange,  purple  pear, 
For  such  Beauty  everywhere. 

How  each  bosom  drums 

When  the  sentence  comes 

To  love,  has  its  way  of  tuning  into  chiming, 

As  if  the  heart  were  steadied  and  were  climbing 

For  some  blossom  in  the  air 

More  than  this  world  is  fair. 

More  than  this  life  is  anywhere! 

How  a  maiden's  heart 

Leaps  to  stop  and  start 

At  just  a  thought  that  there  ma}^  be  another. 

One  dearer  one  than  any  friend  or  brother, 

Half  the  soul  of  her  to  be 

And  best  of  her  is  he, 

More  than  all  the  world  in  fee ! 

What  a  care  she  keeps. 

Never  speaks  nor  peeps 

To  let  you  know  a  thought  she  has  in  keeping 

As  softly  to  his  heart  her  heart  is  creeping, 

Like  a  June  wind  turns  to  sighs 

Till  lily-blossoms  rise 

Reaching  after  perfect  skies! 

Here  and  now  by  spells 

Just  his  gentle  bells 

Go  tossing  in  her  thought  to  do  their  ringing. 

Go  hiding  in  her  heart  to  do  their  singing 

Like  a  bellody  of  rhyme 

Bursting  there  to  throb  and  chime — 

How  they  summoned  her  to  climb 


I 


540  In  a  Bcll-Towcr 

To  the  trumpet-tower, 

To  the  man  of  power 

Who  rose  above  a  world  to  do  his  souling 

By  melody  of  master-tongues  for  tolling 

How  the  hearts  of  men  reach  high 

As  yonder  roofs  of  sky 

Till  they  come  there  by-and-bye! 

To  the  tower  to  see 

What  a  man  could  be 

With  not  a  body  worth  a  wink  of  seeing, 

Yet  all  a  soul  all  Beauty  for  all  being. 

Like  a  galaxy  of  grace, 

Gem-work  and  planet-space 

Crouching  in  their  hiding-place! 

Just  to  see  him  there 

In  his  field  of  air! — 

Yet  is  a  maiden  timid  about  going. 

Lest  people  think  her  forward  or  too  knowing — 

Tiny  foolish  world  to  think 

Hope  is  just  a  passing  kink. 

Love  is  governed  by  a  wink! 

For  quickly  she  is  there 

In  the  moon-made  air 

Among  his  bells,  next  to  him  in  his  steeple. 

Where  he  looks  down  on  what  is  small  in  people. 

On  their  pride  of  pelt  and  limb, 

Wordy  bird,  palate-whim — 

Could  he  ring  them  up  to  him? 

Looking  in  his  eyes, 
Jewels  made  of  skies, 


In  a  Bell-Tower  541 

Only  soul  she  saw,  triumphant  being 

— And  what  is  there  but  soul  is  worth  the  seeing? 

She  stood  looking  in  his  eyes 

Behind  his  perfect  skies 

Where  the  endless  morrows  rise. 

All  the  body-fault 

Of  his  bump  and  halt 

Were  nothing  to  her  now  she  took  to  seeing 

Such  Beauty  in  him  of  transcendant  being 

To  conquer  the  things  amiss, 

Such  a  shadow-world  as  this. 

All  the  blue  star-spaces  his. 

So  he  won  her  there 
To  the  upper  air 

By  what  he  was,  such  soul  beyond  her  seeing, 
The  sweet  in  him  of  supersensual  being, 
By  his  threnody  of  love 
Beyond  her  and  above — 
Soul  is  enough ! 


CONFIDENTIALLY 

I  LOVED  her — I  don't  mind  telling  you — 

You  know  her  eyes  were  open  blue 
And  trustful  to  pleaful  true 

Looking  into  the  soul  of  you — 
Her  hand  like  the  wing  of  a  swallow 

To  beckon,  and  oh  how  a  man  would  follow! 
Her  heart,  never  a  word  to  speak. 

Writing  all  thought  out  at  the  check — 
One  look  and  you  knew  she  never  knew 

Her  gentle  power  over  you — 
And  so  I  loved  her ! 

What  for  one  morning  it  was 

For  song  and  shower  of  sun 
In  hedge-box — my  prickly  haws 

New  needle-work  had  begun — 
My  piemag  made  pretty  sprunts 

To  step  on  a  dozen  flowers  at  once — 
Against  the  red-end  rocks 

Perched  my  Lipari-grape  in  flocks — 
Such  a  morning — and  she 

There  like  a  lotos-blossom  bee 
To  wing  and  sing  for  me. 

While  scarcely  once  she  took 
A  thought  my  way  or  little  look, 

Flitting  where  the  oxeye  cowers, 
542 


Confidentially  543 

Gifted  as  the  gifted  hours, 

My  fiower  among  the  flowers! 
So  now  to  tell  her — no  such  time 

Might  come  again  of  such  lintie-chime 
In  bay-leaf  and  mistletoe 

To  whisper  to  tell  her  so 
How  I  loved  her — oh,  what  spell 

Fastens  a  man  that  he  may  not  tell ! 

Gone  was  my  courage,  so 

I  breathed  easier  to  let  it  go — 
Small  matter,  as  they  say, 

I  could  tell  her  another  day, 
When,  plump  at  the  garden-gate, 

Defiant  and  game-cock  straight 
For  mastership  stood  my  rival  mate — 

Next,  as  if  she  were  already  bride. 
There  he  was  at  her  other  side, 

She  between  us — there  we  walked — 
Well,  you  should  have  heard  him  how  he  talked 

His  cheapery  to  flatter, 
His  wash-up  and  honey-spatter 

Till  I  thought — well,  no  matter — 
Woman-like  she  could  be 

Captured  by  his  treaclery  — 
I  must  lose  her,  she  was  for  fair 

His  prisoner  in  his  hunting-snare — 
There  flew  his  words  like  sugar-shot, 

I  just  lockjaw  and  spirit-not, 
I  mere  poverty  of  power 

To  article  a  word  that  hour! 

Gewgaw — so  I  thought  of  him ! 

How  could  she  make  more  than  nought  of  him 


544  Confidentially 

With  his  summer  fly-beak  buzzing, 

His  puff-up  and  collar-fussing? — 
There  was  I  now  deep-down  jealous! 

What  for  a  blow  like  that  to  fell  us? 
Yet  was  he  masterly  straight  and  proud, 

Thought  little  and  talked  loud, 
None  of  the  droop  in  him  or  dowd — 

So  I  said,  she  is  his, 
Such  men  never  fire  to  miss. 

Soon  we  came  upon  the  lawn, 

A  sheet  of  sun  to  walk  upon, 
Then  away  to  the  gate, 

And  I  began  to  say  it  was  late 
And  time  for  me  to  go. 

And — then  was  one  look  she  gave  to  me 
Men  die  for  if  only  they  can  see, 

Her  true  great  eyes  of  such  pleaful  glow 
As  said  to  me,  "Will  you  never  know, 

Will  you  never  know  how  my  soul  is  true 
As  yonder  sky-beam  is  to  you?  " 


ADELYN,  OR,  HOW  TO  WIN  HER 
I 
Lover 

What  a  pretty  girl ! 

Such  her  olive  face 

Under  lock  and  curl 

As  I  want  and  chase 

For  the  gloss  of  pearl, 

For  her  nod  of  grace ; 
Only  of  her  face  I  keep  me  thinking. 
Her  look  like  heaven  when  all  the  stars  are  blinking. 

Friend 

How  to  win  her?     Why,  forget  to  try! 

Stop  your  thinking  about  the  prize 

Hangs  there  in  her  velvet  eyes! 

Your  last  time  you  heard  her  sigh 

She  was  not  longing  for  you. 

But  for  what  you  should  come  to  to  be  and  do. 

Lover 

Mind  each  auburn  tress 
Whispers  at  her  brow 
Like  a  tongue  to  confess, 
By  one  solemn  vow, 

s  545 


546  Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her 

She  shall  not  be  less 

Than  I  see  her  now, 
My  flower  in  my  yonder  garden  clinging 
Among  the  moon-beds  where  her  wrens  are  singing. 

Friend 

But  how  to  win  her?     Will  you  think 

To  trap  her  like  a  meadovvink 

By  your  throat  of  rose,  your  breast  of  pink? 

Put  an  ear  to  her  to  see 

She  is  more  than  melody ! 

Put  an  eye  to  her  to  know 

She  is  more  than  orchards  blow! 

Have  a  thought  of  her  for  what 

Is  rose-most  in  her  soul  of  thought, 

Has  feeling  for  a  friend, 

Is  mighty  to  comprehend 

Life  holds  purpose  beyond  an  end ! 

Lover 

Ah,  but  there  she  is, 

All  to  see  and  touch, 

Lips  not  meant  to  miss, 

Brow,  none  like  it  such. 

Eyes  to  close  and  kiss, 

Neck  and  cheek  to  clutch. 
My  primrose  for  my  having  and  folding 
As  April  has  all  summer  in  his  holding. 

Friend 

Ah,  but  how  to  win  her? 
April  is  but  beginner. 


Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her  547 

Summer  has  another  mind, 

Has  left  her  April  behind; 

More  than  April  ever  meant 

Is  summer  in  her  firmament ! 

You  look  to  see  what  pink  may  speak 

Or  slumber  there  at  her  cheek; 

You  look  to  capture  such  joys 

As  bells  in  her  morning  voice, 

Suns  in  those  horizon-eyes 

Which  draw  you  to  look  beyond 

Where  eternal  spirit  lies 

Out  of  reach  of  knuckles  and  bond. 

Have  a  look  to  see 

The  best  of  her,  my  friend, 

What  she  is  come  to  be 

More  than  her  ribbon-end. 

Or  boxberries  you  dazzle  at 

Plumping  their  toe-dance  in  her  hat. 

Lover 

What  a  wealth  is  hers 

Of  summerly  throat,      • 

Like  a  May  wind  purrs 

For  a  thrush  to  quote, 

Like  a  cloud-lark  stirs 

To  his  highest  note 
To  join  the  wind  in  a  summer  ringing 
As  if  all  heaven  were  a  harvest  of  singing. 

Friend 

But  to  win  her!     How  to  compass  that? 
More  is  for  you  to  be  edging  at 


548  Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her 

Than  beetle-burnish  to  gloss  your  hat, 

Than  an  eye  to  your  peaks  of  shoes, 

As  if,  to  be  plain,  instead 

Of  her  taking  you  for  heart  and  head, 

You  give  her  just  feet  to  choose! 

More  is  for  you  to  grow 

Than  head-light,  than  tricks  to  know 

Some  gain-way  to  come  and  go, 

More  to  be  gotten  to  for  power 

Than  flies  climb  by  their  flap  of  an  hour! 

Have  all  power  in  you  to  see 

Man  was  meant  to  rise  to  be 

Up  above  gadfly-kingdomy 

To  come  to  one  monument-throne 

God-fashion  just  to  rule  alone. 

That  way  you  shall  win  her— that  way, 

Never  by  your  boot  and  hat-way. 

Look  not  to  see  if  she  be  looking. 

Put  not  an  eye  to  her  to  see 

How  your  chance  in  her  heart  is  cooking — 

Only  you  look  to  do,  to  be 

Mostwise  and  ghostwise — hold  to  your  yearning 

To  get  above  life's  liver-churning. — 

Lives  are  many,  death  is  soon. 

Always  will  come  another  June, 

So  lash  your  world  to  some  lasting  moon! 

Lover 

What  an  eye  she  has, 
What  a  lip  to  kiss ! 
If  I  let  her  pass, 
Then  the  question  is 
Who  mil  get  the  lass 
And  the  lip  and  kiss? 


Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her  549 

An  eye  is  an  eye,  as  meant  for  winking, 
All  in  spite  of  your  stilted  thinking. 

Friend 

An  eye  is  an  eye,  was  meant  to  see; 

Soul  is  soul,  was  meant  to  be! 

She  shall  follow  you,  mark  you  that, 

Straight  to  what  you  level  at 

So  beauty  be  the  thing  in  view. 

All  the  dancing  gems  in  you 

To  capture  her  by  what  you  are, 

Like  as  the  glow-shine  of  a  star 

Captures  me  from  never  so  far 

By  one  strip  of  ivy-green. 

By  one  dot  of  reddish-best. 

While  nothing  is  to  be  seen 

Of  the  rib  in  it  or  saltpetre-breast. 

How  to  win  her  is  not  to  try. 

Be  your  whole  heart  and  the  rest 

As  the  zenith  suns  are  high 

To  circum-compass  their  lordliest 

And  she  shall  follow,  you  shall  find  her — 

What  soul  ever  left  her  soul  behind  her? 


II 


Years  and  years  are  gone  by — 
See  how  they  bubble  to  fly. 
Yet  print  not  a  wrinkle  in  their  sky ! 
She  went  her  way,  would  not  be  had 
For  the  tune  in  her  or  maple-plaid ; 
Would  not  be  valued  for  what 
I  get  in  lapwing  or  cactus-pot; 


550  Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her 

Was  more,  by  what  she  knew  of  herself, 
Than  pictures  in  the  skirt  of  an  elf — 
Went  her  way,  forgot  his  talk 
About  her  dimples  and  pheasant-walk ; 
Forgot  his  moth-way  he  took 
To  have  her  for  her  touch  and  look 
Like  the  lap-wings  of  a  book, 
Knowing,  as  she  knew  so  well, 
More  was  of  her  than  asphodel 
May  mirror  in  its  sepulchre-cell — 
More,  and  he  could  not  see  it 
For  his  blindness,  albeit 
Such  spirit-life,  by  perfect  trace, 
Hung  rare  pictures  in  her  face; 
Such  was  his  littleness  of  view 
He  saw  only  her  pink  and  blue 
New  features,  just  her  veil  to  hide 
Soul  from  him  and  heart  inside. 
What  for  a  man  is  a  jobbernowl 
To  go  cock-eyed,  to  limp  and  prowl, 
Live  on  darkness  like  an  owl ! 
He  could  see  her  girlhood-chin 
Curve  an  S  for  him  out  and  in. 
Could  idle  to  watch  her  nostrils  breathe. 
Knew  her  laughter  meant  pearls  for  teeth, 
And  so  on — never  stopped  he  to  know 
What  lightened,  darkened,  levened  her  so 
■    Was  soul,  which  was  the  whole  of  her. 
The  over-shining  soul  of  her. 

He  too  was  gone  his  way; 
Nought  was  to  do  or  say 
Beyond  what  he  had  said — 
Makes  each  man  his  unique  bed. 


Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her  551 

Being  apart  from  her  he  could  see 
Only  the  one  sublimity, 
Just  his  one  chance  to  be 
Himself  for  all  his  mightiest, 
Make  his  whole  soul  manifest 
For  what  there  lay  in  him  to  do 
Above  fly-flight,  tweedling  cockatoo — 
Now  not  a  look  from  her  nor  beck 
Nor  clinging  lips  to  hold  him  in  check! 
On  he  went  gaining  greater 
Power  by  having  noble  cause. 
Lived  his  life  for  most  he  was — 
The  first  of  a  man  comes  later, 
Spirit  seizes  new  wings,  new  props, 
All  as  fast  as  body  drops, 
So  is  he  ripened  and  high-souled 
Just  by  crumbling  and  growing  old. 


So  they  parted — years  went  by. 

Half  a  century  at  least; 

They  gathered  wrinkles,  their  cheeks  went  by, 

They  were  thinking  of  how  to  die 

As  body  lessened  while  soul  increased, 

When — Now  I  come  to  that  part 

Has  to  do  with  soul  and  heart: 

One  day,  like  those  fly-away  days 

Which  sport  so  now  the  tune-bird  plays 

In  box-plant  at  his  roundelays, 

One  such  day  like  that  it  chanced 

To  be  curiously  circumstanced 

They  should  meet — I  know  the  place. 

All  of  a  lemon-flower  grace 

In  one  open  shut  of  wincsap  trees 


552  Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her 

Which  set  their  net  for  birds  and  bees, 

All  as  a  rose  will  build  its  closet, 

So  pink  and  snug  and  perfect  was  it — 

There  they  met  in  the  same  one  spot 

Once  they  christened  Forget- Me-Not — 

Neither  looked  to  the  other  to  see 

Pink  in  the  cheek,  light  in  the  eye; 

Neither  of  power  more  than  to  be. 

Each  could  whisper  only  the  sigh, 

The  one  word  soul  has,  one  last  breath 

Of  yielding  and  welcome  to  death 

Which  was  cheek  to  cheek  with  each  of  them, 

The  world  most  out  of  reach  of  them — 

Passion-time  in  tree-green  booth. 

Each  rush-lily  look  of  youth 

Were  gone — only  were  there 

In  the  brow  of  each,  put  everywhere, 

Finger-mark  of  kindness  and  care, 

One  far-off  look,  as  if  they  saw 

One  thing  higher  worth  looking  for 

More  than  squab-Hfe  to  bill  and  coo. 

To  count  the  feathers  and  ambigu ; 

More  than  plump  white  forearm  to  clutch, 

As  if  soul  focused  in  sight  or  touch ! 

Only  the  one  look  of  them  was  there. 

So  much  heart  to  it  underneath 

As  captured  scarce  a  lip  to  breathe, 

One  thought  to  utter — everywhere 

Was  silence,  only  the  vireo 

Tuned  his  throat  to  raptture  so 

I  thought  he  was  trying  to  say 

What  they  could  not — such  wonderway 

He  took  to  perform  his  part. 

Such  overflow  of  wide  wild  heart: 


Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her  553 

Youth  no  more, 

Only  age, 

Yet  mark  the  score 

How  it  crowds  the  page, 

How  the  leaves  are  thin, 

Finger- worn. 

Spotted  and  torn 

Where  you  begin 

To  think  the  song 

Is  fading  too, 

As  all  along 

The  avenue 

Of  notes  the  blight 

Is  through  and  through 

To  tax  the  sight 

And  lip  of  you, 

Till  one  full  day 

You  shall  hear 

Your  same  notes  play 

New  and  clear, 

Climbingly  strong 

As  they  were  then. 

For  here  is  your  song. 

In  the  wind  again! 

Now  he  saw  her  for  what  she  was, 
Not  the  sunrise-cheek  to  hide 
Soul  from  him  or  heart  inside ; 
Little  body  thin  as  a  gauze 
Time  now  covered  white  and  blue 
As  all  clear  heaven  looks  to  you — 
Only  her  spirit  glistened  through, — 
Such  a  look  of  love  of  him 
As  only  soul  inay  purpose  to 


554  Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her 

When  sight  falters,  Hght  is  dim. 
All  for  one  perfccter  view 
Look  where  I  hang  this  drop  of  dew 
In  the  sun  of  a  summer  mom 
To  see  how  soon  my  gem  is  gone, 
Yet  never  the  warmth  it  died  upon! 
Stood  he  there,  had  grown  so  great 
That  not  one  look  could  hesitate 
To  show  her  he  was  come  to  be 
More  than  she  could  touch  or  see, 
More  than  thunder-light,  planet-stir. 
Yet  all  human  and  all  for  her. 

So  many  years  grew  them  both  new, 

The  while  they  grew,  as  men  say,  old; 

She  saw  him  now  to  be  fair,  true, 

As  I  see  any  blossom  unfold 

Its  handsomest  just  at  the  last 

After  stalk  and  leaves  are  past. 

They  two  now  so  one  together 

As  not  to  think  the  boy-thought  whether 

Soul  could  perish  or  they  could  find 

More  beyond  than  is  left  behind. 

More  in  all  the  eternal  yet 

Than  teeth  seize,  gullets  get, 

Seeing  they  love  so  and  are  one 

Only  now  when  their  life  is  done 

And  over — shall  the  best  be  lost, 

Nothing  come  of  all  it  cost, 

When  just  to  love  and  be  great 

Make  each  highest  kind  of  state 

I  get  out  of  this  wheeling  earth? — 

Shall  something  become  nothing  worth 

While  what  I  know  of  or  see 


Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her  555 

Everywhere  'round  or  over  me 
Make  parcel  of  one  eternity? 
Two  souls  and  now  wholly  one, 
Sotil  grown  greater  than  aught  before, 
Body  wholly-most  past  and  done. 
Soul  out-reaching  for  more  and  more. 
Body  no  more  than  turning-spit, 
Soul  too  large  to  be  stuck  to  it — 
Two  souls  now  so  wholly  one 
As  not  to  question  how  or  whether 
More  was  to  be  than  they  had  done. 
Ready  to  face  sweet  death  together — 
Shall  death  cut  short  what  God  begun? 

Soul  knows — trust  you  that ! 
Knows  a  way  of  coming  at 
Always  and  always  what  is  best 
Of  life  and  death  and  all  the  rest, 
Oh,  wonderful  supra-mental  guest! 


MOON  FIELDS,  OR  MAN  THE  GOD 

Now  comes  a  strip  of  light 

To  split  my  gem  in  two: 
If  I  get  the  angle  right 

I  get  a  strip  of  blue — 
A  different  dip  instead 

And  I  have  a  shape  of  red — 
So  is  the  soul  in  you 

To  get  a  shape  and  hue 
As  it  dartles  through, 

Get  form  and  power  and  size 
Out  of  feet  and  pain  and  eyes. 

Prologue 

My  moon,  not  yours,  nor  any  triune- 
God-lorded  or  Paul- Petered  moon 
In  wrinkles,  nor  plaster-of- Paris  set 
To  mould  people  to  a  one-sphere  limit — 
Nor  fly-trap  moon  where  a  thing  to  do 
Was  to  closet  spirits  before  they  grew 
To  a  wing-like  God  in  the  over-blue, 
Clap  a  soul  in  to  lop  and  trim  it — 
Nor  weak-ankled  moon,  no  mind  to  stalk 
Above  cockpits  of  chyme  and  chalk — 
Nor  weak-eyed  moon  which  may  not  see 
Further  than  moon-hypertrophy — 
But  my  moon,  put  plump  like  an  eye 
For  fair  in  the  brow-place  of  the  sky 
556 


Moon  Fields;  or  Man  the  God  557 

To  pick  white  light  up,  fling  it  bold 

Through  shadow,  like  a  splash  of  gold — 

My  moon,  where  I  lived  to  make 

Most  of  moonlight,  put  soul  at  stake 

In  gorges  of  fire  for  teeth 

To  chew  heart  out,  let  man  not  breathe 

Before  he  captured  the  right  to 

By  fighting  for  higher  life  to  fly  to — 

My  master-moon  to  start  with 

I  fought  so,  and  lastly  mastered 

To  death,  the  still  face  alabastered, 

Which,  needs  I  must,  I  'm  loth  to  part  with, 

My  old  new  moon  which  ground  me  in  two 

For  one  purpose  just,  to  see  me  through 

To  mastership  and  a  conqueror's  clutch 

On  new  life,  by  deeper  breath. 

For  chance  to  bellow  and  grin  at  death. 

You  earth-people  hold  to  your  thinking 

This  moon  could  never  show  one  place 

Worth  men  again,  one  fine  great  race 

For  picking  light  up,  for  drinking 

Space  in,  worlds,  soul,  freedom 

To  mount  above  cockpits,  sting- winkle  shoals 

Which  mumble  to  some  Holy  See-dom, 

An  eyrie  for  broods  of  souls 

To  fly  from,  once  they  master  wings 

To  fly  best  where  the  thistle  stings. 

One  one-faced  moon,  my  moon, 

Of  lips  thinnest,  of  mightiest  jaws, 

Where  I  could  hear  the  daw-cock  croon 

To  sputter  in  an  eagle's  paws — 

Men  were  matchless  since  life  was  wars; 

No  two-faced  moon  with  an  inkling 

For  prelate- winks,  brow-wrinkling, 


55^  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

But  just  my  clean  free  open  moon 
Caught  listening  to  a  lip  of  June. 


My  uncle's  castle  hung  drooping  out 

On  a  chin  of  quartz,  like  a  lazy  lip 

Curled  under  one  wide  mountain-rip 

To  scorn  me — there  was  drowsy  pout 

About  it,  each  window  pane 

Picked  up  each  new  sun-down  stain 

To  fling  it  straight  back  at  the  sky 

With  the  clean  round  snap  of  an  eagle's  eye. 

So  set  was  it  in  the  upper  rock 

Of  one  shade  and  grain,  block  for  block, 

I  could  scarce  tell,  in  clear  noon  air. 

If  there  was  any  castle  there 

More  than  what  looked  like  a  graft 

Of  mother-trap — just  mountain-shaft. 

So  was  it  sculptured  in  vast  days  back 

Of  all  recording — my  moon-made  race 

Was  panther-hearted,  took  not  one  trace 

Of  soft  side  to  it,  not  a  spirit-smack 

Of  warm-bloodedness,  lived  to  spill 

Each  other,  lived  to  get  their  fill 

Of  life,  which  was  all  there  was  of  it 

Men  thought  worth  a  clam  to  covet. 

Each  feared  the  other,  each  built  his  cell 

Like  a  bunch  of  ledge — one  could  not  tell 

Coping  or  trench  of  it  or  roof 

From  the  hornblende  which  leaped  aloof, 

Much  as  a  chipmunk  will  invest 

In  tanpits,  since  they  hide  him  best. 

My  race  was  moon-mastered,  began 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  559 

Like  most  races,  in  a  darklish  way, 

To  pick  power  up,  promtilgate  man. 

By  little  first — first  came  display 

Of  porgy-jaw,  of  zoril-zip. 

Of  fang- whistle  without  the  lip, 

One  straight  pick-up-from-nothing  plan 

By  which  a  race  leaps  from  bad  to  better 

Till  man  now  came  to  be  so  much 

The  same  as  a  lobster's  paw,  all  clutch, 

One  kind  of  purely  belly-getter.  " 

My  moon-people,  like  your  earth-race. 

Claimed  their  wonted  quog-hog  birthplace, 

Made  way  up  through  steep  of  mud 

To  cooler  head,  warmer  blood; 

Sinew  first,  then  brain  for  fightiness 

To  compass  world-power,  moon-mightiness. 

Much  as  in  your  bondage-earth 

The  thing  which  once  was  least  and  worst 

Made  your  beginning,  came  first, 

Like  darkness  gives  the  star-beams  birth. 

Each  one  of  my  race  fought  his  way 

By  vast  endeavor,  by  little  hope 

To  more  than  snuff  his  way  or  grope 

To  get  his  shin-bones  laid  away 

To  keep  the  peace  forever.     By  gain, 

Joy,  mastery,  pitfalls,  pain. 

Some  held  on,  some  would  blunder, 

While  whether  or  no  they  kept  their  doubt 

Or  stuck  to  faith  to  fight  it  out. 

All  the  bonded  swarm  went  under. 

See  how  all  things  so  must  die 

Which  float  about  the  mooned  sky : 

Men  or  moons,  moonbeams  as  well, 

Know  two  things  which  they  could  tell, 


56o  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

And  both  of  them  in  a  breath — 

They  live  their  life,  they  die  their  death. 

What  say  then,  once  the  stars  unbend, 

Are  all  things  over,  is  there  the  end? 

Are  worlds  meant  to  be  undone. 

Is  nothing  meant  to  come  of  it. 

The  whole  vicegerent  sum  of  it 

Nothing,  and  so  much  begun? 

My  moon  was  peopled  by  my  people, 

Grass-plot  was  there,  little  pinches 

Of  powderdom,  little  inches 

Of  frost-bite,  sun-smack — there  the  steeple 

Which  points  into  yonder  super-hollow 

Where  all  may  look,  none  may  follow; 

Just  your  very  shop  was  there, 

Your  village-pump  for  garden-care 

Of  pyrola,  gentian — the  town-clock  square 

With  bells  to  whistle  their  chime 

In  the  face  of  high-handed  time. 

Each  thing  took  on  shape  for  worth 

Much  the  same  as  in  your  earth ; 

Generation  upon  generation 

Grew  one  kind  of  adoration 

For  life,  joy,  nought  beside, 

Bowed  heart  and  head  down  and  died 

When  the  last  clutches  at  gain  were  spent — 

Now  only  these  hills  for  monument! 

I  caught  one  crystal — the  clear  stone  knew 
A  way  to  pull  a  moonbeam  through 
To  spill  it  into  cherry  or  blue. 

II 

One  thing  you  should  understand 
About  moon  matters  and  moon  land: 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  561 

The  end  was  come,  there  was  small  picking 

For  man  or  beast,  the  air  was  thin, 

Fields  pinched  up  like  a  wrinkled  skin, 

The  whole  land  pallorly  to  sicking, 

As  if  the  globe  were  choked  by  swallowing 

So  many  races,  so  took  to  wallowing. 

Vomited  cinders  till  one  would  have  said 

They  were  the  ashes  of  the  dead. 

If  men  died,  so  died  their  moon, 

Quite  as  slowly,  all  as  soon; 

Thin  air,  hard  heat,  harder  cold 

Called  halt;  the  race  was  gone 

To  where  't  was  harder  to  be  born 

Than  die,  if  truth  were  told, 

So  it  happened,  by  sickening  time, 

Men  died  out ;  just  this  one 

Is  left  to  swing  about  the  sun 

To  tell  his  story  of  fire  and  rime. 


Ill 


One  household  just  was  saved. 
My  uncle's  castle,  which  pouted  out 
At  all  the  hell  and  havoc  about, 
At  poppy  fiatfields  now  paved 
By  sulphur-cake,  melted  ledge. 
From  where  it  sticks  out  like  a  wedge 
In  a  rift  of  high  Petavius. 
Our  castle  held  just  five  of  us: 
My  uncle's  ward,  new  Natalie, 
Pink  cheeks  tied  to  blue  eyes 
For  glow-lights  in  morning  skies 
I  rushed  to,  all  as  a  boy 
All  in  his  throat  and  all  joy, 
36 


562  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Just  as  any  bee  will  straight 
To  melon-bell  to  circulate 
About  the  yellow,  strike  his  pick 
At  the  lip  to  get  the  honey-lick. 
What  a  Natalie,  too,  she  was 
Those  young  days  I  knew  her  for  what 
Was  heart-romp  with  scarce  a  thought. 
Clear  Beautiness  for  never  cause 
Soul  could  purpose — silver  fingers 
To  twist  her  locks  as  May-sweet  air 
Plays  in  the  playful  grass — to  snare 
My  heart — how  thought  of  it  lingers ! 
One  would  think,  to  see  her  by  a  stream 
Which  held  her  image  underneath, 
Think  the  surface  tried  to  breathe 
Yet  could  not,  as  if  such  dream 
Of  Beauty  snatched  away  the  air 
Now  the  soul  of  Psyche  wandered  there. 
My  uncle's  sister  was  next — our  matron; 
One  could  have  taken  her  for  patron, 
So  much  she  was  master,  on  the  plan 
Women  most  fly  to,  to  play  the  man. 
Mostly  her  way  of  coming  at  you 
Was  not  to  win,  but  to  outdo 
You  at  any  doing,  thinking, 
Pleased  cotdd  she  see  a  little  shrinking. 
'Spite  of  her  mouth-lack,  mink  face. 
Back-slope  of  her  pea-size  head 
Scarce  accountable  for  what  she  said, 
Much  was  about  her  of  human  grace 
And  kindliness — one  way  she  had 
Of  finding  in  you  good,  not  bad 
To  hold  to  over  and  above. 
Fishing  by  cute  sorts  of  bait 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  563 

For  a  mouthfvd  of  your  love 

For  which  she  would  angle  and  bob  and  wait, 

Brings  her  back  to  me,  the  best  of  her — 

Now  she  is  gone,  what  covmts  the  rest  of  her? 

Then  there  was  cunning  Clacky — 

Prince  was  he  not,  nor  lacky. 

But  one  round  all-natured  man 

My  uncle  fastened  to  years  back. 

Liked  him  mostly  for  this :  his  walk 

Beat  one  level  tick  Hke  a  clock 

He  told  time  by,  so  named  him  Clack. 

More  than  one  could  think  he  was  bent  up 

To  roundabout  from  head  to  heel. 

Hooped  in  so  as  a  Surrey-wheel 

As  if  to  keep  his  spirit  pent  up 

Lest  it  should  'scape  him;  at  his  eyes 

There  was  blaze,  while  just  the  while 

Men  saw  him  waddle,  crab-end- wise, 

There  would  come  his  humor-bubble, 

A  rough  wind  in  a  bunch  of  stubble. 

Chuckle  mostly  mouth,  no  smile! 

Under  his  jacket,  albeit,  you 

Foimd  good  in  him — he  was  clever  too. 

With  one  weakness,  the  unknown  sex 

He  ciphered  at,  so  wrote  it  X, 

While  where  there  was  aught  to  decide 

'  Twixt  man  and  woman  in  a  chatter. 

The  man  might  have  the  best  of  the  matter, 

Yet  there  he  stood,  on  the  woman's  side! 

Stomach  mounted  high  in  his  rating. 

Clam-land,  ways  of  vegetating — 

You  to  yoiir  moonshine,  sunny  spots; 

For  him  a  dash  at  the  honey-pots: 

One  roundabout  man,  as  I  have  said. 


564  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Who  booked  books,  was  potpie  read, 
So  wore  all  kinds  of  doubtful  head. 
He  was  of  use,  to  my  uncle  at  least. 
If  joy  just  to  see  the  rascal  feast. 
My  uncle  is  not  so  simple  to  tell  you : 
Lord  head  was  he  the  country  'round, 
Sky-scraping  eye,  hold  on  the  ground. 
So,  if  he  spoke  it  would  be  well  you 
Marked  tiine — no  joy  in  shirking 
The  day  you  caught  his  top  lip  jerking. 
Justice — there  was  his  pretty  theme 
He  pinned  to — just  to  be  just, 
To  do  the  right  because  he  must, 
Made  his  pro- profitable  scheme. 
This  he  held:  there  goes  one  law 
Compels  an  oughtness — I  might  not  do 
Right  because  I  wanted  to 
For  love  of  it,  for  there  he  saw 
Power  in  back  of  a  universe 
To  bend  to,  else  men  capture  curse; 
I  must  low-bow  me  to  Might 
Before  I  come  to  know  a  bit. 
Manage  me  to  grow  a  wit, 
Come  to  be  master  fully  right. 
Life,  to  his  thinking,  is  all  given 
To  capture  earth,  purchase  Heaven; 
So  was  it  that  to  gain  his  end 
He  was  just,  would  play  the  friend. 
Play  kind,  too,  play  masterful  good, 
Nor  throb  in  it,  nor  bosom-mood; 
As  when  I  notice  how  this  moon 
Scoops  up  sky  like  a  silver  spoon 
Full  of  fire,  as  the  thing  would  seem, 
While  I  drink  from  it,  beam  by  beam. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  565 

There  comes  to  me  this :  the  face  is  fair, 

Yet  no  breast  under  it  anywhere, 

Only  the  cool  clear  head  is  there. 

There  was  level  peace-brow  unctionary 

Sweet  about  him  to  make  one  think 

Soul  could  leap  from  a  lip  or  wink 

Of  such  epaiileted  functionary. 

Meant  he  right  for  this :  he  thought 

'T  was  coin,  while  Heaven  was  to  be  bought. 

Yet  right  he  was,  mark  you  that! 

Right  was  his  game  he  levelled  at 

And  no  miss — so  there  was  his  claim 

To  mightiness  in  fact  and  fame. 

Far  as  he  went  one  could  not  say 

He  could  be  nobler  so  or  stronger 

In  his  snudgj'-  leaf-beetle  way — 

Would  he  had  lasted  to  me  longer ! 


IV 


He  taught  me  the  value  of  Right, 

To  be  noble  for  an  end  in  sight, 

So  reasoned  he:  this  soul  has  value 

To  knock  at  gates,  one  thump  of  cash, 

So  he  would  ask  not  "Are  3'ou?"  but  "Shall  you?' 

'  *  Shall  you  succeed  in  one  life-long  clash 

To  get  your  bosomful,  fat  and  laughter. 

Get  the  worth  of  your  soul  hereafter?" 

He  taught  me  the  value  of  Right, 

Never  love  of  it — not  once  that ! — 

Life  and  power  and  worlds  in  sight 

For  me  to  try  to  be  clutching  at 

For  love  of  them,  not  for  love  of  what 

They  could  make  mc,  soul  and  thought 


566  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

To  down  or  to  put  all  j^ain  aside 

Ere  they  came  part  of  my  shank  and  hide. 

Love  of  Right — not  once  that — 

My  one  point  I  'm  hitting  at: 

Man  may  not  step  to  spirit-plane 

If  he  put  first  foot  out  for  gain. 

Mark,  he  made  for  right — so  he  was 

Giant  in  his  cubbard  cavise, 

Since  he  could  see  no  more  than  this: 

Here  was  moon-wealth  to  be  got, 

Was  one  way  to  lose,  another  to  not, 

Nought  was  put  in  moons  to  miss, 

Only  what  he  bought  was  his. 

So  all  things  flourished  price 

From  groundsel  to  golded  skies: 

Power  over  moon  and  men — his  sight 

And  his  wisdom  this:  Heaven  comes  of  Right. 

Far  as  he  conjured  he  made  good, 

King-man  he  in  moonful  mood 

Bent  upon  getting  what  he  could 

As  compensation  for  right-doing — 

How  he  kept  the  village  brewing! 

Heaven  comes  of  Right — so  much  is  right — 

No  dodging  that  dictum-height! 

See  now  how  he  stuck  to  his  text, 

What  came  of  it,  what  happened  next! 


Oh,  what  pretty  morning  one  morning 
A  cloud  lopped  over  the  castle  wall 
To  drop  there  like  a  yellow  pall ! 
Or,  shall  I  say,  as  an  August  awning 
Pitched  southerly  and  so  spread 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  567 

As  to  knock  the  sun  off  overhead? 

Soon  I  was  up  one  mountain  path 

Leading  to  where  the  bay-leaf  leaps 

To  get  his  sun-rub  of  amber  bath — 

I  took  a  way  the  ibex  keeps 

For  constant  climbing,  high  as  he  can, 

Because  he  is  afraid  of  man — 

I  caught  his  feeling,  somehow  I  knew 

'T  was  safer  where  the  eagles  glue 

Their  prongs  to  peaks  to  ride  a  blast  out 

Than  I  take  my  chances  among  men 

Of  being  picked  and  plucked  and  cast  out — 

I  angled  for  cistus,  for  citron-buds 

Which  tie  the  trees  like  links  of  studs — 

And  just  so  armed,  while  just  so  full 

Of  joy  as  boy  once  out  of  school 

I  came  plunging  through  thorn,  gorse. 

To  castle- wall  where  one  tree  was, 

For  there  just  between  tree  and  wall, 

Snug  under  her  canopy  overhead 

Once  purple,  now  half-ended  red, 

"Where  the  ring-hawk  safely  flew 

To  rub  his  wing  at  a  leaf  of  dew, 

Was  Natalie — she  knew  my  coming 

As  a  pear-flower  knows  the  humming 

Of  a  honey-fly — I  rushed  to  her  so 

With  my  loud  heart  of  Juney  glow. 

Just  as  you,  once  you  were  young, 

Great  soulfuls  which  could  not  be  sung, 

Lighted  at  her  lip,  then  at  her  eyes 

To  swallow  her  smile,  all  as  a  shrike 

Plunges  at  heaven  all-over-like 

To  pick  the  check-red  in  his  skies — 

My  Natalie,  how  I  held  her  there 


S(y&  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

For  such  love  of  her,  she  so  fair 

As  any  pearl  perched  in  her  hair 

I  tangled,  never  to  forget 

Such  glow-dance  in  such  fire-new  net — 

Held  her  and  held  her,  printed  each  cheek 

With  spirit  to  the  temple-peak. 

All  the  keen  fine  while  was  she 

Passing  her  sweet  soul  back  to  me 

Till  I  was  sure  I  held  in  my  hand 

The  wild  flower  of  all  Happy  Land. 

What  is  heart,  oh !  what  is  heart 

That  will  sneer  so,  that  will  bite  so. 

Love  so  deep,  then  unite  so, 

To  outgrow  growth,  break  ranks  and  part? 


VI 


Off  to  my  story  and  brief  enough: 

My  uncle  wanted  her — scarcely  for  love, 

Since  he  was  so  old  he  would  rather, 

For  love  of  God,  have  been  her  father. 

All  in  spite  of  this  he  wanted  her; 

I  knew  well  he  dogged  and  haunted  her, 

Would  shin  the  mountain  to  bring  her  bay 

Or  buckeye,  trundled  a  passion 

To  fringe  her  skirt,  moss-pink  fashion, 

To  tempt  her  to  turn  to  look  his  way ; 

Hung  twin  brilliants  at  her  ears 

To  spatter  like  a  pair  of  tears — 

While  she — 't  was  not  too  hard  to  see 

She  wore  her  own  head,  so  wanted  me. 

Childless  was  he,  was  without  wife. 

Wanted  issue  to  prolong  his  life 

After  he  was  gone,  a  son  to  grace 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  569 

His  lawn-spot,  wear  his  hat  and  face; 

Who  should  blame  him,  who  would  not  see 

Himself  sprout  new,  the  old  tree  shoot 

Finer  branches  to  point  one  path 

Higher  than  the  mudded  root 

To  where  one  keener  sun  is  sunning. 

To  where  the  sunstone  stars  are  running 

For  more  than  this  poor  planet  hath? 

Clacky  knew  well  my  uncle's  way, 

How  he  would  do,  what  he  would  say 

If  he  dared,  so  would  tell  to  me 

What  he  heard,  all  he  could  see 

Of  how  my  uncle  was  in  a  mood 

To  get  the  girl  for  himself  if  he  could. 

How  I  loved  her  Heaven  knew; 

Nought  for  me  in  the  moon  beside ; 

God  might  be  great,  man  be  true, 

Nought  was  to  think,  less  was  to  do 

If  I  could  not  have  her  for  soul  and  bride. 

So  how  to  manage  to  put  him  off? 

To  get  an  old-time  uncle  to  doff 

His  ward,  whom  he  thinks  to  own, 

Give  her  to  you,  live  his  life  alone. 

Was  most  like  trying  to  clip 

The  white  sweet  out  of  a  lily-lip. 

To  Clacky  I  put  it — this  my  plan : 

— To  find  my  way  I  shall  know  my  man — 

My  uncle  kept  the  one  aim  in  sight. 

One  thing  to  do  and  the  only  one 

Which  comes  to  profit  under  the  sun : 

What  he  should  do  must  be  wholly  right. 

Clacky  should  see  him,  tell  him  of  it, 

How  I  loved  her,  how  such  love 

Comes  first  in  things  below,  above — 


570  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Right  makes  the  only  way  of  profit. 

Yet  you  must  all  whiles  understand 

My  uncle's  soul  was  aimed  at  gain 

To  him  in  this  or  other  land, 

So,  to  put  the  whole  matter  plain. 

He  stood  for  doing  as  near  to  right 

As  he  could  see  by  his  pig-sty  sight. 

So  it  happened  Clacky  came  at  him 

Soon  as  he  found  his  eye  chatoyant, 

His  belly  big,  spirit  buoyant, 

One  plump  hour  to  stroke  and  chat  him^ — 

Clacky,  his  forefinger  put  close 

To  his  greenstick-fracture  nose 

He  boasted  because  it  showed  a  bent — 

Laid  the  case  out  pretty  plain 

How  we  were  one,  just  we  two. 

One  heart-rush  to  one  lip-intent. 

Love  just,  never  thought  of  gain — 

How  more  than  all  of  this  he  knew 

That  to  use  his  wealth  of  wit  to  part  us 

Might  get  the  girl,  would  not  unheart  us — 

How  all  things  living  go  to  prove 

Luck  comes  not  by  crushing  love 

For  gain  to  you,  by  way  of  pelf. 

To  get  another's  love  for  yourself — 

How  he  must,  therefore,  once  to  win, 

Strike  fire  for  not  one  spark  of  sin — 

So  brought  my  uncle  to  his  thinking 

So  he  could,  leastways,  begin  to  see 

My  Natalie  was  made  for  me 

And  small  use  of  his  minne-blinking. 

More  than  this  above  all  he  saw 

One  way  to  get  his  moon-share  full 

And  sky-life  after  of  a  gull, 

Was  to  live  his  davs  without  a  flaw. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  571 


VII 


You  must  know  this  was  before 

Moon  grew  ashes,  shintangle  frore; 

When  land-lap  spread,  mountain  knees 

Lifted  pea-shoot,  penoplume  trees 

To  a  point  of  wild  yellow  grace 

In  grass-acre  growth,  qua-bird  quaff 

In  honey-blob  for  a  lip  of  laugh. 

And  all  was  one  mellow  garden-place. 

Our  castle  lay  in  a  lush  of  such. 

Amethystine  plum,  arrowy  grass; 

There  was  blue  melon  overmuch, 

Cornelian  poppy  for  a  touch 

Of  beautiful  eye  which  the  linnet  has. 

My  uncle  was  king  in  his  mountain-hatch. 

Poked  bee-like  into  garden-patch 

For  lavender,  opopanax ; 

Country-folk,  horizon  'round, 

Turned  his  turf  up ;  man  and  hound 

Swallowed  his  law  down,  paid  him  tax. 

Fat  he  grew  there,  grew  what  belly 

Shook  like  a  lump  of  royal  jelly 

Over  his  bottleful,  Famese  quaff, 

Till  valleys  off  I  could  hear  him  laugh. 

All  which  he  took  for  clear  net  profit 

Of  virtue — there  was  his  view  of  it 

In  firm  according  with  his  creed: 

Play  right  if  you  would  stuff  your  greed. 

Wealth  to  him  who  knows  all  right 

To  do  it  with  his  mountain-might 

Was  half  of  him ;  his  other  half 

Kept  bottle-time  to  wheeze  and  laugh. 

Should  his  craw-pit  jump  alive, 


572  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Castle  glass  would  flicker  bright 

As  fire-points  out  of  sodden  night, 

All  inside  like  a  honey-hive 

Was  flutter,  one  school  of  bees 

To  pick  and  sting  and  eat  and  sneeze 

Their  maggot-life  out,  think  it  sweet 

To  go  gut-ward — soul  lives  to  eat ! 

Once  things  went  his  way  he  was  brave 

As  grave-diggers  who  dig  a  grave 

For  neighbor  yonder,  nor  stop  to  think 

They  stand  there  too  on  the  brittle  brink. 

Long  as  luck  lasted  he  was  great 

As  men  are,  after  the  level  run 

Of  such  as  fear  their  lot  may  be  late 

Or  never  under  each  clocky  sun. 

To  lose  all  was  another  matter 

Would  make  his  iron  back  teeth  chatter. 

See  how  he  went,  now  the  shift  came, 

This  power-house  man  of  toppy  name. 

See  what  became  of  his  creed 

That  virtue  is  a  thing  men  need 

As  shekels  potted  in  a  shop 

To  purchase  Fate  by  trick  of  swap. 

Long  as  luck  lasted  I  could  keep 

My  Natalie,  since  he  was  gaining 

By  what  he  lost,  as  I  was  explaining — 

What  he  sowed,  that  he  should  reap ! 

There  was  his  genius  of  man-magic — 

See  if  the  end  turned  glad  or  tragic !  . 


I  slope  my  crystal  to  let  slip  through 
Another  streak  of  white  or  two — 
I  have  a  new  blaze,  the  end  is  blue. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  573 


VIII 


Sudden,  all  as  a  fire-tongue  leaps 

From  cloud  which  droops,  lazily  sleeps. 

Came  belching  of  yellowing  smoke 

From  out  our  moon,  through  which  there  broke 

Great  laps  to  overlaps  of  fire 

Which  melted  mountains,  roasted  mire 

Into  one  yellow-breasted  paste 

Of  moon-melt — I  could  see 

Rivers  of  it  begin  to  wind 

Like  tongue-licks  across  one  waste 

Of  happy  country,  as  if  one  sea 

Of  fire  emptied  on  us  streaks 

Like  clouds  do,  once  the  lightning  leaks. 

Think  of  your  earth  opening  to  spew 

Red  ashes,  your  hills  to  pelt 

Sky  with  star-balls,  your  rock  to  melt 

To  plaster  fields,  make  lakes  of  glue 

Where  once  the  poppy-lily  blew — 

Think  of  each  living  thing  to  fly 

In  ashes  to  blot  out  a  sky — 

Hot  fog  to  break — one  mouth  of  powder 

To  chew  each  last  hope  into  chowder — 

Far  as  you  could  know,  each  cleft 

Of  water- fern,  flock  of  sparrows 

To  pass  out  through  the  narrow  narrows, 

You  just  in  your  eyrie  left 

Above  the  wild  blast  there  to  perch 

Mid-air,  a  whole  world  in  the  lurch — 

My  word  for  it,  my  affidavit. 

There  the  truth  is — there  you  have  it ! 

Right  where  my  man  once  garden-cared 

For  asclepias,  nut-leaf  crop, 


574  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

I  saw  men's  cinders  pinch  and  hop 

Till  never  a  breath  was  spared. 

So  high  up  were  we,  so  tucked 

Our  castle  was  inside  one  arm 

Of  hornblende,  the  blue  fire  sucked 

In  under  us  and  around  us. 

Put  out  each  fork  of  jointed  palm 

To  find,  yet  never  found  us. 

So  saved,  as  I  have  said  before, 

I  and  my  uncle  and  his  sister 

And  my  Natalie  and  our  Clacky, 

Compromise  'twixt  prince  and  lackey, 

Never  one  of  us  scored  a  blister. 


IX 


That  much  was  my  uncle  nipped, 

Ground  cut  under  him,  wings  clipped; 

Scarce  a  nanny-drupe  to  be  had, 

Nor  pinch  of  wind  to  keep  life  going. 

Nor  oddy-doddy,  good  or  bad, 

Small  reaping  where  was  so  much  sowing. 

Night  closed  thick  about  the  mountain, 

Just  such  kind  of  pitchfork  night 

As  comes  to  blast,  stays  to  blight — ■ 

Not  any  more  my  bubble-fountain 

Of  over-joy  could  tie  new  knots 

Of  dew-fall  into  silver  spots — 

Not  any  more,  like  heretofore. 

Should  tree-lark  hark  to  catch  his  score 

Or  to  pitch  his  wildest  new  key 

From  the  songing  throat  of  my  Natalie — 

Not  any  more  will  I  walk  abreast 

Of  stars  which  shine  the  titling's  nest 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God         575 

Till  my  fine  siren  sing  his  best. 

This  was  it:  there  was  no  knowing 

Life  again  as  I  once  knew  it; 

No  place  more  was  left  for  growing 

Hope  again  where  once  I  grew  it. 

From  night-pit  to  sun-dawn  morn 

There  was  no  more — mountains  were  tilted, 

Continents  were  dropped  and  wilted, 

No  moon-map  now  all  place  was  gone. 

So  to  come  to  our  point  pregnant, 

How  my  uncle  now  would  take  it 

To  see  his  Moon  what  hell  could  make  it, 

Fire-worm  uppermost  and  regnant 

Till  what  he  saw  made  swamp  of  fire, 

Never  an  inch  which  an  acrospire 

Could  find  to  shoot  in:  you  well  know 

How  men  are  governed  by  what  they  grow — 

Here  was  this  man  with  his  creed 

That  men  are  measured  by  what  they  need, 

That  life  and  that  all  I  get 

Are  compensation,  ledger-net 

For  clean  performance  to  make  most 

Out  of  what  each  performance  cost ; 

Yet  there  he  stood,  face  against  luck 

Of  skull  and  bones,  topmost  worst, 

As  if  creation  had  been  curst. 

He,  my  uncle,  had  been  kind 

To  gentle  as  a  summer  wind. 

True  to  each  touch — no  man  knew 

How  to  be  leveller  or  more  true; 

Beside  which  he  put,  prohatum  est, 

His  shoulder  to  do  his  level  best. 

How  would  he  take  it  now  he  saw 

Puff-ball  in  quid-pro-quolic  law? 


576  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  (jod 

Saw  how,  small  matter  if  he  trued 

His  life  up  to  his  best  he  could 

For  gain,  that  loss  of  world  ensued? 

How,  do  as  he  might  the  thing  to  do 

For  gain  just,  do  his  most  he  knew, 

He  found  this  one  thing  mastiff  true: 

New  fight  was  on — he  must  strike 

For  more  mightiness  just  to  swing 

New  blows  against  the  evil  thing 

Heart-first,  more  man-fashion-like; 

How  not  the  thing  he  is  after. 

Gold-clutching,  pot  of  laughter. 

Make  any  high  kind  of  an  end 

Moon  keeps  in  thought,  but  a  way  to  bend 

Life  to  noblement,  put  sovl  in  plan 

For  moulding  one  first  supremest  man? 

How  woiild  he  take  it  once  he  saw 

Higher  than  compensation-law? 

Here  lay  his  one  platform- thought 

On  which  to  stand:  man  is  to  earn 

Reward  of  merit  by  each  new  turn 

He  gives  to  virtue,  come  to  learn 

God-great  greatness  is  sold  and  bought! 

So,  so  soon  as  his  day  came 

He  should  see  his  country  ravished. 

Moon-land  bundled  into  flame 

Wheresoever  once  was  lavished 

Tree-lush,  sugar-berry  Juning, 

Dawn-birds  at  their  steeple-tuning. 

He  thought  how  he  was  face  to  this, 

By  vulgar  order  of  proper  reason: 

All  power  is  one  consummate  treason 

Against  man,  life  is  meant  to  miss. 

Virtue  to  have  triumphal  reward 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  577 

Of  always  the  overhanging  sword ; 

Labor  is  vain,  the  thing  he  took 

For  Beauty  fell  to  the  huntsman's  hook ; 

One  tin-god  series  of  cheap  divining 

To  reap  wrinkles  and  whining  and  pining. 

Take  what  way  he  would  to  handle 

Feast  or  dance  or  trumpet-dandle, 

He  found  the  play  not  worth  the  candle. 

Fought  he  for  gain,  for  profit, 

So,  soon  saw  there  was  nothing  such. 

Saw  hell  held  him  in  its  clutch. 

So  reasoned:  there  comes  nothing  of  it, 

Virtue,  righteousness,  spirit-might. 

More  than  any  pigeon-flight 

A  thumb-length  above  his  trees 

To  pick  crumbs  out  of  the  sorrow-breeze. 

Drop  to  tuck  his  wings  in  over  night. 

As  man  reasons  to  think  it  out, 

Life  inside  him  and  about. 

So  is  his  make-up,  so  he  makes  hope, 

Or  fear;  so  by  trying  to  grope 

He  learns  his  sweep  of  elbow-scope 

In  one  small  world,  finds  his  great  plan 

To  measure  measure  by  the  man. 

Always  and  just  about  as  near 

As  man  gets  truth  to  think  it  clear 

Life  is  one  crop  of  hope  and  fear. 

So,  once  my  uncle  fairly  dropped 

Hope  out  of  him,  now  his  crest  was  cropped, 

Seeing,  as  I  saw  so  plain. 

No  way  was  open  to  profit-gain, 

Let  us  see  how  he  took  his  creed 

That  life  is  just  for  gain  and  greed 

And  measurement  by  what  I  need: 


578  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 


In  my  mountain  high  up — 

Now  where  no  daisies 

Play,  no  maize  is — 

Pokes  a  lip  out  like  a  cup 

Where  my  uncle  took  to  combing 

Thought  out  just  at  gloaming, 

Would  sit  there,  would  try  to  pick 

New  threads  up,  trick  by  trick, 

Wallow  in  thought  and  in  vain 

To  see  if  he  could  clinch 

Some  purpose  in  his  brain 

To  live  for,  if  half  an  inch 

Or  littler  in  his  vast  domain. 

One  must  know  we  were  alone 

As  stars  are,  each  in  his  pitfall  zone, 

We  five  just,  never  another 

Hairy  airy  beast  or  brother, 

Never  a  morning  glory 

Beyond  our  castle  to  tell 

One  hot  side  of  our  story, 

How  we  lived  in  a  Moon  of  Hell. 

Having  once  lost  all  his  faith 

In  all  things  save  only  death. 

My  uncle,  as  men  do,  let  go 

His  hand  from  purpose,  gave  way 

To  such  mellow  maudlin  pew-gog. 

To  such  droolery  each  day. 

Dropped  his  soul-man-side  so 

I  could  see  the  dew-fog 

Fill  his  face,  see  mador 

Streak  his  cheek  like  a  river-adder 

Because  he  could  not  see 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  579 

Beyond  his  Moon  in  space 

Any  other  time  or  place 

Where  he  could  come  to  be 

Power  afresh  to  conquer  pain, 

Make  for  pig-eye  gain  again. 

Once  the  man  in  him  is  gone, 

What  counts  man  for  building  on? 

One  morning  stood  up  sharp  and  clear 

As  starlight  in  a  huntsman's  spear; 

I  went  wandering  just  to  know 

How  far  up  beyond  above 

One  could  gather  quill  or  clove, 

Find  if  sweet  maudlin  would  grow 

In  such  closets  of  fire  and  snow 

When  I  came  upon  the  cup, 

My  uncle  there,  fine  feathers  up, 

While  just  beside  him  and  new 

As  a  tree-bud  which  means  to  glue 

A  drupe  to  the  stalk  from  which  it  grew 

For  gratefulness,  was  my  Natalie, 

Whom  he  was  cheek  to,  was  plying 

For  sweet,  as  the  summer- flying 

And  glistening  of  any  bee 

'Round  his  branch  of  basil — she 

Nested  in  her  lemon  flowers 

Like  a  wren  in  crocus  cowers — 

Her  clean  soft  eye-look  I  saw 

Pour  full  at  him,  never  flaw 

More  than  June  by  frown  is  browed, 

Two  lofty  blue-lights  in  a  cloud. 

Her  hand  in  his  was,  while  thus 

He  lighted  his  ignis  fatmis : 

"Destruction  is  here,  you  see; 

This  world  is  ashes — no  more 


580  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Comes  value  of  it  as  before; 

The  thing  is  nothing  to  me; 

Any  next  hour  you  or  I 

May  get  our  order  to  die, 

Since  death  is  wanton,  makes  free 

With  each  Hving  thing  I  see — 

So  remains  there  nought  to  do ; 

Nought  is  left  to  me  save  you ; 

See,  too,  how  all  life  is  vain. 

See  out  over  beyond  this  plain 

Where  once  was  jumping  poppy, 

Rye  once  rocked,  corn  was  toppy, 

With  now  not  a  brambling  to  tell 

What  brook  taught  him  his  gurgling-spell! 

I  lived  best,  tuned  myself  true 

To  what  righteousness  I  knew, 

And  here  is  full  dispensation  ' 

Of  fire  and  tooth  and  sling 

With  not  one  thumb  of  compensation 

For  all  my  pretty  gospelling ! 

Somehow  have  I  hit  it  wrong — 

Let  a  man  do  his  farmost  might, 

There  's  no  rulery  of  right 

Shall  profit  him  a  song! 

"Ah,  while  sun  's  in  the  mountain, 
Let  us  be  cloud-like  free, 
Bubbles  ducked  in  a  fountain, 

Waves  in  a  sea; 
To-morrow,  quick  to-morrow 
Holds  you  your  cup  up  of  sorrow! 

"Copy  the  robin-whistle. 
Take  his  path  on  the  wing 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  581 

High  over  frost-bite  or  thistle 

Only  to  sing 
Above  you,  you  that  swallow 
His  song,  and  your  dirge  to  follow. 

"  Copy  the  wind  a-blowing 
For  shouts  of  song,  for  shine, 
For  gambol  of  saffron-sowing, 

Head  above  whine. 
Above  any  little  knowing 
Whence  it  comes,  whither  't  is  going. 

"  Cheek  to  cheek  let  us  follow 

Blue  in  the  mountain  air. 

Tap  the  wild  hymn  of  the  swallow, 

Closet  our  care! 
Gain  is  loss,  there  's  no  knowing 
Whence  we  come,  whither  we  're  going. 

"  Gone  is  the  triumph  of  fashion, 

Gone  is  law  among  men; 

What 's  left  but  a  clasp  of  passion, 

Freedom  again? 
Hail  to  the  mid-air  wooing 
Of  bluerocks  billing  and  cooing! 

"  Lip  then  to  lip  be  flying 

To  pick  fire  out  of  heart 

Ere  we  commence  to  be  dying ! 

Summer  will  part — 
Heave  at  it,  life  is  longing 
For  more  than  righting  and  wronging!" 


582  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Thus  in  the  mountain  he  plyed  her, 

Right  as  I  eyed  him  he  eyed  her — 

She  Hke  the  squab  in  a  butcher's  hand 

To  know  not  one  way  to  turn 

Aside  from  his  jaw-bite,  bosom-burn — 

Seized  her,  hand  and  hand. 

Pinned  her  as  a  falcon  grips 

His  goldfinch  between  finger-tips, 

Nor  would  he  have  let  her  go, 

Save  that  I  gave  him  one  shout 

To  wake  the  dead  the  land  about 

For  warning  to  let  him  know 

My  purpose  and  my  one  will 

To  strike — ^men  have  struck  to  kill 

Where  innocence  is  held  in  pause 

For  crushing  in  a  dragon's  jaws — 

When,  to  my  shout,  came  Clacky  too. 

Things  were  wronger  than  wrong,  he  knew, 

While  my  true  Natalie,  while  she 

Was  up  like  the  finch  and  away  to  me, 

My  uncle  leaving  never  a  doubt 

Of  what  he  was,  proved  himself  out, 

As  men  do,  by  thought  or  by  deed. 

To  be  not  greater  than  his  creed. 

Once  more  I  turn  my  crystalline  stone 

A  thumb-width  nearer  the  moon-beam  zone — 

Cinnamon-tints  in  an  amber  tone! 

XI 

Next  day  my  aunt,  my  uncle's  sister, 
Looking  as  if  the  devil  missed  her, 
Snipe-eyed,  such  one  look  about 
As  let  me  trust  her  like  a  doubt. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  583 

Jaw  set  snug  to  nose  and  thin, 

As  if  she  tried  to  chew  her  chin, 

Hailed  me  with  this  quodlibet, 

A  snap  at  the  end  of  it  for  threat : 

"Fair  nephew,  you  make  too  much 

Of  greediness  and  mighty  clutch 

To  put  claim  to  your  uncle's  ward. 

To  lord  it  here  as  if  you  were  lord, 

Grand  master  and  woman -master; 

Yours  is  about  the  law  of  duty 

Pirates  practise,  law  of  booty; 

You  scarce  more  than  cake  of  plaster 

Stuck  against  our  castle- wall ; 

What  right  is  yours  to  so  palaver 

The  girl  that  you  may  hope  to  have  her? 

From  this  uncle  you  have  all 

God  gives  to  any  orphan-born, 

While],but  for  him  you  would  have  sprouted 

Out  of  a  gutter — will  you  doubt  it? 

Besides,  he  is  old,  his  soul  is  worn. 

While  she,  the  cheek-bright  Natalie, 

Is  what  is  left  him  of  our  Moon 

We  two  must  part  with  and  so  soon; 

Left  to  him  that  she  may  lip 

His  eyelids  down  as  dark  days  grip, 

While  you  now  would  rob  him  of  her. 

Pick  his  heart  and  throat  and  eye  out. 

Gleam  at  him  to  see  him  die  out, 

Play  sea-hawk  at  mossy  plover! 

Have  a  care — he  feebles,  I  know. 

The  best  in  him  begins  to  go, 

Yet,  as  you  have  so  been  told 

How  men  who  start  to  lose  a  hold 

Tighten  their  grip,  beware  lest  you  land 


584  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Your  throat,  by  turns,  in  his  closet-hand!" 

What  was  left  me  to  say  but  she, 

My  sweet  soul  of  a  Natalie, 

Was  free  as  mountain-flowers  are  free 

To  pile  their  sweetness  here  and  there, 

To  tie  it  to  all  coiling  air? 

My  trick-uncle  she  could  have, 

Or  any  other  mink  or  Slav, 

'Though  I  knew  just  to  let  her  be, 

She  would  put  her  choice  on  me. 

The  while  my  uncle  might  be  heard 

To  truck  and  fawn  and  smicker 

Moth-fashion  at  his  star-flicker. 

And  never  I  to  drop  a  word. 


XII 


Next  then  to  win  her  he  must  see, 

First,  his  trick  to  be  rid  of  me ; 

Always  I  notice  this,  how  men, 

Once  they  drop  the  honest  might 

Which  cuts  through  force  by  force  of  right, 

Take  to  wit,  to  skull-box  ken, 

Pismire  head-work,  monkey-sHght 

By  which  they  may  not  capture  might, 

But  trick  and  shy  at  it  an  hour. 

Come  to  be  swallowed  down  by  power. 

First,  to  drive  me  out  of  her  thought, 

A  thing  not  so  ail-easily  wrought: 

Curious  cunning  must  be  sought  for. 

While,  as  they  find  who  try  to  prick 

The  eye  of  truth  out  by  a  trick. 

More  's  to  be  thought  of  than  they  thought  for! 

Shortways,  this  much  he  concluded: 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  585 

My  birth  bore  a  certain  mystery 

Was  coupled  to  my  after  history ; 

This  should  be,  first  off,  unsnooded, 

I  made  knowledgeful  of  what 

Had  lotted  me  my  nephew-lot. 

So,  once  one  evening  drew  its  bow 

Of  orange  across  one  peak  of  snow 

To  split  it  like  an  arrow  sent 

Into  the  bull's-eye  firmament, 

My  uncle  followed  me  on  up 

Into  my  high  resting-cup 

Where  I  thought  so  to  be  alone 

To  try  to  think  one  purpose  out 

Life  could  have  in  such  a  blown 

And  wasted  hemisphere  about. 

He  told  me  of  my  father,  his  brother, 

How  he  took  for  wife  my  mother 

All  against  his  father's  will, 

Who,  for  such  reason,  straight  provided 

His  fortune  should  not  be  divided, 

Should  go  to  my  uncle  for  good  or  ill. 

Unless  it  should  happen  my  mother 

Should  one  day  come  to  wed  another — ■ 

In  such  case  then  was  made  provision 

His  domain  should  have  division 

Among  his  heirs,  so  to  compel 

My  uncle  to  look  to  it  pretty  plain 

He  kept  my  mother  from  wedding  again — 

Such  the  undreamable  lynx  in  men! 

Should  she  have  taken  second  mate 

My  uncle  must  forfeit  his  estate. 

With  this  he  went  to  tell  me  how 

He  contrived  my  mother  should  bow 

To  his  will — -night  was  now  trying 


586  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

To  spoil  a  spot  of  mushroom  dyeing 

When,  through  the  dark,  down  he  pointed, 

Down  to  the  castle  where  one  tower 

From  the  others  looked  unjointed, 

Looked  extra-knuckled  for  extra  power, 

'Though  cracking  old,  once  was  a  cookery, 

Now  more  like  a  broken  rookery. 

Till  straight  at  us,  straight  through  the  bars 

Of  one  small  window  looking  east, 

Looked  a  light  the  glare  of  an  evil  beast. 

The  dance  in  it  of  a  dozen  stars. 

When,  right  there,  he  said,  just  in  there 

My  mother  was  his  prisoner 

He  put  there  such  long  years  before 

He  scarce  could  summon  up  their  score, 

For  once  concluding  she  would  wed, 

All  in  spite  of  him,  as  she  said. 

None  knew  she  was  there  closeted, 

Save  my  speckled  aunt,  his  sister, 

Who  gave  it  out  that  she  was  dead. 

So,  only  as  being  dead,  men  missed  her. 

She  had  come  old,  he  breathed  to  say, 

Yet  would  he  not  give  her  flight 

Lest  she  should  wed  again  for  spite, 

All  in  spite  of  her  age,  one  day. 

There  had  he  held  her  most  her  life 

To  pinch  out  in  an  attic-pit, 

A  wren  coiled  to  a  huntsman's  spit, 

Nor  mother  again,  nor  friend  nor  wife — 

How  coiild  he  steel  him  to  doing  it? 

Told  he  next  how  my  father  died 

Of  a  sudden,  ere  I  was  born; 

How  he  tore  me  from  her  side 

As  infant,  how  her  hope  was  gone 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  587 

With  me  lost  to  her,  how  she  went 

Half  cheerful  to  her  prisonment : 

How,  by  time,  I  grew  to  love  him, 

My  uncle — nought  reigned  above  him. 

Mark  now  this  his  overture: 

Should  I  renounce  my  Natalie, 

Quit  claim  to  him  finally, 

Give  her  up  to  him  to  have 

For  wife  and  proselyte  and  slave, 

He  would,  by  way  of  compensation. 

Lead  me  to  the  tower  where  I 

Should  see  my  mother,  my  first  friend 

Before  she  took  her  turn  to  die 

In  the  tower  there  where  rooks  descend 

Like  so  many  little  sorrow-people 

To  bring  their  friendship  to  the  steeple. 

Go  I  should  by  each  day's  rise 

To  her  lonely  temple,  hold  her  close. 

Fetch  wild  hyssop,  edelweiss. 

Fetch  her  hooks  of  holly-rose 

To  soften  the  stones  to  such  kind  eyes 

As  dropped  their  dew-light  out  of  tears 

To  the  wilted  leaf  in  each  cheek. 

Flowers  woiild  knit  again,  blossom,  speak 

All  as  once  in  her  girleen  years. 

My  mother — I  her  foundling  son, 

We  two,  to  be  once  more  just  one. 

As  when,  in  that  last  April  nap, 

I  lay  snuggled  to  her  lap 

For  such  oneness,  such  wealth  of  love, 

Man  turns  all  heart  for  thinking  of. 

Oh  friend,  be  sure  of  this  in  me, 

I  forgot  there  was  any  Natalie; 

I  forgot  my  uncle's  tyrant- trick 


588  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

To  crush  the  life-size  out  of  her 

Who  gave  me  Hfe — I  forgot  to  stir; 

You  could  hear  my  bosom  prick 

With,  first,  tne  thought  to  strike  him, 

With  then  the  thought  to  like  him, 

To  hold  him  close  for  brother 

Who  brought  me  back  my  mother. 

Like  whom  the  sweet  world  brings  no  other, 

Whom  I  thought  lost  to  me,  gone 

That  great  grief -week  I  was  bom. 

She  the  blood  and  only  soul  of  me. 

Deepest  very  heart  and  whole  of  me 

I  was  to  have  again,  was  to  save 

From  death's  death  on  a  dungeon-spit — 

Oh  God,  the  very  thought  of  it. 

To  clasp  a  mother  from  the  grave ! 

So  said  I  yes,  my  thousand  y esses. 

He  could  have  my  Natalie, 

Have  her,  oh  that  gladfully ! 

Her  melon  lip,  claret  tresses. 

Have  her,  everything  was  of  her. 

To  be  her  monarch-mate  and  lover. 

For  that  he  should  lead  me  next  day. 

This  same  time,  plump  on  the  hour. 

By  one  snakish  narrow  way 

Which  serpented  towards  the  tower 

Through  such  labyrinth  as  only  he  knew 

Where  tongue  and  fang  of  it  pointed  to. 

XIII 

Next  day  was  my  aunt  about. 
Would  aim  at  me  with  pointed  snout 
To  know  what  went,  how  my  uncle  came 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  589 

To  look  to  her  not  half  the  same, 

Like  somewhat  were  so  pinching  his  brain 

He  thought  worth  thinking  over  again 

As  men  do  who  are  not  full  certain, 

Now  that  or  this  new  point  is  sifted. 

As  if  the  spirit  lowered  and  lifted 

Cloud,  betimes,  like  a  hanging  curtain ! 

As  if  she  were  not  puffed  with  knowledge 

Down  to  just  the  smallest  small  edge 

Of  what  my  uncle's  brain  was  doing 

While  she  bottled  what  he  was  brewing ! 

She  knew — there  's  the  why  she  kept 

Knowledge  to  herself — you  know 

How  small  minds  think  it  sharp-adept 

To  play  at  ignorance  so  to  feel 

They  work  a  wheel  within  a  wheel 

To  put  you  thinking  contrariso — 

Next,  after  once  was  glutted 

Her  lust  of  cunning,  her  fox-fancy 

For  trick-work,  cheap  necromancy, 

Here  's  her  way  she  piped  and  stutted: 

"So  you  have  found  sense,  it  seems, 

To  drop  off  your  cock-lofty  strut. 

Your  head-breeze,  lap-dog  dreams! 

Having  found  you  have  a  mother, 

Have  an  uncle  for  a  brother. 

You  can  find  an  '  if '  or  '  but' 

For  Natalie — so  like  you  men. 

An  old  love  off  for  a  new  one  when 

The  whim  tickles.     In  this  case 

You  do  well  to  mend  your  ways 

To  travel  backward  to  one  whose  arms 

Took  you  when  you  were  nought,  take  part 

And  lesson  of  such  true  great  heart 


590  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

To  re-youth  her,  to  put  back  charms 

Of  geranium  at  her  wilted  cheek. 

— More  is  her  heart  than  soul  may  speak — 

A  blueling  in  a  lap  of  maize, 

Fingers  of  phlox  where  sunfall  plays, 

And  those  are  wonderful  days 

When  a  man,  like  a  pink  bud,  lies 

For  the  life  of  him  under  two  warm  eyes 

Of  dew-shine  and  such  love 

He  begins  to  chuckle  and  puff 

For  more,  never  to  get  enough, 

And  the  flower  may  open  to  spread 

For  wonderment  against  his  skies, 

Hold  his  world  in  extasies. 

Yet  will  come  back  to  him  the  sweet  same  eyes 

Always  and  always,  looking  or  dead! 

Natalie  I  saw  this  early  morning. 

Told  her  of  my  brother's  warning 

To  you — how  your  mother  was  there 

For  prisoner  to  cormorant  care 

Unless  you  came  to  her — how  you 

Quickly  decided  between  the  two. 

And,  soul-high-ripened  as  no  other. 

You  chose  the  heart-beat  of  the  mother. 

Doubt  not  once  the  greatness  of  it, 

Doubt  not  any  world  would  love  it 

'Though  each  town  should  come  unsteepled 

And  the  universe  unpeopled — 

Think  you  mere  people  make  for  what 

Runs  highest  in  universal  thought, 

That  once  this  love  is  body-blended. 

Once  this  human  heart  is  matched 

And  mated,  and  broods  are  hatched, 

The  glory  of  God  is  done  and  ended?" 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  591 

XIV 

This  one  evening,  tap  on  time, 

I  took  my  uncle  at  his  word — 

Clock-hand  now  begun  to  chime; 

Nought  was  new  in  it;  I  had  heard 

The  hardened  music  there  as  boy, 

Blow  upon  blow  if  a  neighbor  died, 

Harder  blows  if  a  maiden  sighed 

To  shrink  at  marriage-altar  joy. 

As  if  for  this  lesson  to  humankind: 

The  blow  first,  one  hardest  blow 

Men  shrink  from,  try  to  stifle  so; 

Comes  then  the  echo  just  behind 

Turns  to  such  sweetness  on  the  wind. 

Such  the  way  that  evening  with  me, 

I  caught  one  wild  minstrelsy 

Which  sweetened  up  the  air  so  about 

With  its  tongue-licks  and  honey-shout 

I  could  hear  and  know  nought  other 

Than  this — I  was  to  see  my  mother ! 

So,  on  the  hour,  I  was  by  him, 

My  purpose  now  to  test  and  try  him; 

Natalie,  be  it  understood, 

I  was  not  to  see  again 

In  this  life,  if  I  would  or  should — 

So  much  was  settled  and  made  plain. 

Good  as  his  word  we  took  up  march, 

First,  through  each  new  northerly  arch 

To  one  roundish  court,  then  straight 

To  the  night-bell  over  Griffard  Gate, 

As  it  was  known,  for  claws  of  a  hawk, 

To  open  both  wings  out  with  a  squawk. 

Through  here  we  came  on  an  open  ditch — 


592  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Deep  it  was,  narrow  and  dark 

As  space  is  'twixt  tree  and  bark — 

One  deep  small  ladder  descended 

With  never  suspicion  of  a  pitch — 

Not  knowing  where  in  earth  it  ended 

Would  make  a  lion's  liver  twitch 

— I  go  first,  my  guide-uncle  next — 

Descensus  Averni  made  our  text 

I  kept  in  mind  as  we  began 

To  leave  this  world,  drop  on  drop. 

Till  I  thought  we  coiild  never  stop. 

So  dark  it  looked  where  the  ladder  ran, 

While,  save  for  my  full  force  of  will, 

I  think  I  should  think  I  was  dropping  still. 

End  came  at  last — there  we  stood 

At  the  pit-bottom — you  may  know 

There  were  touches  of  brotherhood 

Now  we  could  feel  the  undertow 

Of  darkness,  could  get  not  a  trace 

One  of  the  other,  hand  or  face. 

How  one  touch  of  danger  bends 

To  soften  and  make  us  friends ! 

Stood  we  firm  in  the  ladder-plinth 

At  the  opening  of  such  labyrinth 

Of  trick-angles  and  ringlet-links 

A  man  is  lost  who  stops  or  thinks, 

Since  through  it  all,  hark  all  your  hark, 

Nought  was  there  but  thickest  dark 

To  look  to  to  face  you  back 

Defiance,  like  a  mask  of  black. 

No  man  could  think  his  way  one  hair, 

Save  that  he  knew  both  trick  and  key 

To  match  and  unhinge  the  mystery 

Which  else  meant  certain  death  was  there. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  593 

This  was  it :  there  ran  one  railing 
About  as  high  as  a  man's  hip 
Along  which  you  let  finger  slip 
To  feel  (there  must  be  no  failing) 
For  a  notch,  then  one  tiny  cliff 
Nicked  in  the  rail  each  twenty  feet 
For  sign  to  you,  like  a  hieroglyph 
Stuck  at  one  comer  of  a  street 
To  let  you  know,  could  you  read  the  text, 
Which  ugly  corner  would  come  next. 
Any  miss  of  a  chip  or  dot, 
Any  forgetfulness  how  it  read, 
One  small  lapse  of  witful  thought 
And  you  companion  with  the  dead. 
I  took  his  hand,  walked  well  behind — 
How  thought  makes  havoc  of  a  man 
If  night  be  on  him! — what  if  his  plan 
And  purpose  were  so  cold  inclined 
As  to  drop  me — there  was  scarce  a  span 
To  link  us,  and  I  knew  my  man 
— How  I  clinched  his  hand  behind ! — 
What  if  he  weakened,  dropped  his  mind ! 
Not  for  myself  I  was  so  shrinking, 
But  for  her  in  the  tower  there — no  thinking 
Would  put  me  right — chill  sweat  put  chase 
To  two  sharp  glow-spots  in  my  face 
As  came  one  thought  which  pricked  and  haunted: 
I  was  that  close  uncled  and  aunted, 
The  two  between  them  plain  could  see 
Round  ownership  of  Natalie  in  fee 
Could  they  contrive  to  be  rid  of  me! 
Crept  such  follies  through  my  brain — 
Them  you  forget,  you  do  not  forget 
How  they  made  you  wince  and  sweat, 
38 


594  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Then  sweat  and  wince  all  over  again — 

More  than  an  hour  we  were  groping 

This  way,  that  way,  all  .so  slowly 

The  end  looked  black  as  melancholy 

For  any  taste  of  human  hoping 

When,  at  a  wink,  we  were  out 

In  a  kind  of  round  redoubt 

Of  such  masonry  and  that  broad. 

Sunk  so  far  below  the  sod 

I  thought  of  it  as  an  arm  of  God. 

This  was  the  tower,  shot  from  just  there 

Where  we  stood  into  upper  air. 

Force-foremost,  that  mountain-proud, 

Nor  stopped  once  till  it  pricked  the  cloud ! 

One  round  step-way  curled  to  make 

One  coil-up,  like  a  springing  snake 

Against  the  stars,  spy-spiral  sent 

To  climb  where  it  licked  the  firmament ! 

No  entrance  other  was  to  be  found, 

Apart  from  this  rat-hole  underground, 

A  man  could  take  to,  coming  or  leaving, 

And  the  web  of  it  past  all  believing. 


XV 


Now  to  ascend!     There  was  such  dark, 
Deaf-mute  darkness  was  around. 
Since  we  stood  so  deep  underground 
No  light  could  leak  a  little  spark. 
My  uncle  first — how  he  could  crawl 
With  neither  slip  nor  trip  to  fall, 
Knew  his  way  so  — such  no-blundcrment 
Filled  me  fully  full  of  wonderment ! 
Each  time  he  would  lift  a  foot 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  595 

To  take  a  new  step  on  the  stair, 

Each  small  creaking  of  a  boot 

Fell  to  me  like  music  there — 

Was  I  not  rising,  round  by  round, 

To  where  my  whole  heart  could  be  found, 

Now  each  new  step  I  took,  each  stir 

Put  me  one  footfall  nearer  her 

Who  waited,  who  knew  not  I 

Came  reaching  for  her  towards  the  sky? 

Till,  as  I  rose,  each  step  came  lighter, 

Dark  grew  dim,  the  tower  brighter. 

So  as  I  drew  to  near  the  top. 

Thought  of  her  door  where  I  should  stop, 

That  light-footed  was  I,  it  seemed 

Weight  was  gone,  the  whole  sky  schemed 

To  trick  me  and  I  only  dreamed, 

For,  right  where  I  was  come  to  stay, 

I  felt  half  spirited  away. 

XVI 

We  were  come  to  the  tower-top  now — 

There  was  one  small  window  in  it 

To  look  ofif,  like  the  eye  of  a  ginnet. 

Straight  at  our  moon-mountain-brow; 

One  small  hall  was  where  we  stood 

To  face  one  little  iron  door 

Made  round  too — never  its  like  before — 

I  kept  my  look  at  it  agood 

To  see  my  uncle  fingering. 

Watch  him  push  one  hidden  spring 

Which  shot  two  iron  bolts  plump  out 

Like  two  tusks  through  a  boar's  snout — 

There  it  opened,  while  just  inside 


596  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Lay  one  semi-circum  room, 

One  other  just  such  eye-hole  in  it 

To  put  me  thinking  of  the  ginnet, 

Knew  not  the  whisper  of  a  broom 

For  past  all  memory  of  man — 

Bring  this  to  you,  if  you  can, 

How  God-made,  God-likest  man, 

Having  each  failing  of  his  race, 

Could  harden  him,  like  a  pelican, 

To  pouch  a  sister  in  such  place 

Where  such  mouth  of  darkness  licked  her 

To  wind  about  her  heart  and  face 

Coils  to  crush  like  a  boa-constrictor — 

For  there,  close  to  us  now  inside, 

Just  one  thinnest  touch  of  light 

Which  lay  at  her  two  lips  like  blight, 

She  as  one  who  that  day  died. 

Hands  crossed  as  if  in  death, 

Heedless  if  she  drew  a  breath, 

Was  my  mother,  just  the  gentle  mother — 

How  sure  I  knew  her  for  no  other ! 

Passed  he  in,  my  uncle  first. 

Whom  I  could  have  blest  and  curst, 

Stood  at  the  window  to  look  out. 

Back  to  us,  hands  both  behind  him 

Clearly  so  we  should  not  mind  him. 

Or  so  he  might  not  look  about 

To  see  what  he  must  shrink  to  see, 

Such  meeting  'twixt  my  soul  and  me — 

And  you — why,  you  would  never  look 

One  glance  within  such  private  book 

Of  love  like  that,  nor  could  I  tell 

The  Heaven  of  it,  the  wordless  spell 

Of  joy,  of  unworldly  power 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  597 

Of  soul  and  soul  to  melt  in  one 

In  Heaven's  way,  now  all  was  done — 

I  held  her  for  such  love  that  hour 

As,  come  what  may  in  the  world  again, 

Could  find  no  matching  among  men. 

XVII 

Now  for  quick  thought  to  make  the  best 

Of  such  supernal  climax,  lest 

I  lose  a  point — how  mind  will  break 

To  split  up  into  sparks  of  thought 

Curiously,  marvellously  wrought 

If  a  life  you  love  be  at  stake ! — 

For  quicker  than  my  uncle  could  see 

If  he  turned  to  look,  which  he  did  not, 

I  seized  my  mother  close  to  me 

By  both  arms,  then  like  a  shot 

Was  at  the  rounded  door  and  through. 

Dragging  the  iron  eye-lid  behind 

Which  shut  like  a  jaw  with  a  hungry  grind 

All  as  quick  as  I  snapped  it  to, 

And,  lo,  my  captor  was  capped, 

He  by  his  own  trick  was  trapped. 

Left  bonded  and  my  convict  there. 

My  uncle  and  my  prisoner! 

Now  for  escape — None! 

Not  one  step  to  it  under  the  sun. 

Save  through  the  deep  dark  underneath — 

No  crawling  ever  between  those  teeth 

Without  him — so  where  to  ttirn? — 

I  could  feel  my  eyeballs  burn, 

Lip  twitch — then  thought  would  stir: 

Was  I  there  not  his  prisoner, 


59^  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

He  mine?     Must  we  not  rise 

To  some  safe  kind  of  comjjromise 

By  understanding,  beyond  doubt, 

We  help  each  other  to  get  out? 

Have  you  thought  ever  you  could  pet 

A  panther,  now  he  looked  so  calm 

You  thought  to  safely  stroke  his  palm 

For  pastime,  coax  him  to  forget 

His  foaming  frenzy  of  wild  rage, 

Make  friend  to  him,  yet  ogled  shy 

If  he  began  to  nose  too  nigh. 

To  conclude,  on  the  whole,  it  were  sage 

To  keep  him  just  inside  his  cage? 

Mostly  that  way  was  how  I  felt. 

Having  in  mind  his  nails,  my  pelt — 

So  were  we  locked  in  the  tower-cop, 

The  case  looked  dark  and  difficult. 

For  we  could  neither  go  nor  stop 

With  only  the  panther  to  consult, 

When,  on  our  stairway,  click  by  clack 

Came  footfalls — I  can  hear  them  now 

Stroke  the  stairway  on  the  brow — 

I  hearked  to  get  each  little  smack. 

Leaped  to  look,  called  out  to  know 

Who  came  there,  what  went  below, 

When  royal  Clacky  answered  back. 

How  he  could  come  I  could  not  see — 

He  could  not  know  a  chink  or  crum 

To  point  him  which  way  he  should  come — 

How  Clacky,  no  thought  over  pie-height, 

Could  have  taken  to  such  high  flight 

Was  mystery — yet  there  he  came 

For  light  to  us,  like  a  tongue  of  flame, 

Clacky — no  doubt  there  he  was, 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  599 

Ready  to  take  the  woman's  cause, 

Wrong  or  right,  whichever  it  was. 

To  put  his  soul  against  the  planet — 

So  't  was  I  let  him  plan  and  man  it 

To  get  us  out — he  knew  how, 

Knew  much  of  what  my  uncle  meant 

To  do  by  his  tower- tanglement, 

So  was  he  that  plump-hearted  now 

To  friend  us,  took  us  down  the  strip 

Of  steps  which  groaned  from  crown  to  hip. 

Which  talked,  yet  never  moved  a  lip, 

Took  us  through  the  no-end  maze 

Of  quadrants  and  split-fingcr-tricks 

And  out  again  into  those  warm  days 

And  side-hills  the  sweet  wind  licks. 

XVIII 

Days  were  now  gone  since  we  two 
Were  ticketed  to  leave  the  tower, 
My  mother  and  I — such  wing-days  flew 
As  found  us,  each  new  painted  hour, 
Love-bound,  mother  just  and  son. 
From  sun-up  always  to  sun-under, 
My  uncle  in  his  trap  to  wonder 
How  well  it  worked,  if  once  begun, 
How  well  he  loved  the  law  of  blunder  I 
Natalie  was  not  to  be  seen — she  too, 
Like  the  days  about  us,  was  gone. 
Spirited  away  and  no  one  knew 
What  tree  she  was  picketed  on 
Or  where  to  look  that  she  be  found. 
Save  in  some  pit-puzzle  under  ground. 
My  aunt  took  stomachful  of  bother 


6oo  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

All  to  try  to  free  her  brother, 

Till  sudden  brain-work  put  her  thinking: 

She  should  make  love  to  Clacky, 

Win  him,  make  him  her  Jo-Jacky — 

Well,  you  should  have  seen  her  blinking, 

Toe-straight  tenor  if  she  walked, 

How  she  curlicued  and  balked, 

Furbelowed  and  pinked  and  chalked, 

Then  two  daubs  of  silver  paint 

For  swooning  and  playing  saint. 

While  not  one  thought  for  Clacky  more 

Than  any  squiggle  of  a  wrasse 

Or  small  intent  his  tail-bob  has 

Right  as  he  pins  a  gnat  ashore. 

Wealth  was  her  portion,  wealth  of  gold 

I  saw  no  sign  of,  yet  was  told 

Her  share  in  her  mother's  estate 

Was  largened  to  truly  great. 

Cunning  Clacky,  by  all  his  reading. 

Came  heady  as  a  ball  of  dough. 

Seemed  to  need  a  little  kneading 

Ere  he  could  fill  to  grow  and  know 

Beyond  his  yellow  metallurgy. 

For  always,  both  as  young  and  old, 

He  had  Jew-genius  for  boxing  gold. 

Loved  the  shine  in  it,  quill-splurgy — 

Give  him  that,  you  could  see  him  lapse 

Like  thought  which  winks  between  the  naps, 

Dull  as  an  oyster  in  his  shell 

That  fats  and  fouls  and  all  is  well. 

Now  his  old  back  begins  to  righten, 

Boot  to  shine,  tie  to  tighten, 

Bosom-gladful  to  make  a  tool 

For  chance,  once,  to  play  the  fool. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  6oi 

Saw  I  the  thing  would  never  do, 
Aunt  and  Clacky  to  count  for  one — 
This  much  I  saw  of  what  was  true: 
From  such  instant  as  Clacky  was  won, 
My  uncle  falconed  in  the  tower, 
All  would  go  to  the  coupled  two 
And  poor  outlook  for  mother  and  son 
And  uncle  from  that  union-hour. 
Would  they  be  left  alone  to  clamber. 
Stuck  for  death  in  this  yellow  Moon 
Like  two  flies  in  a  thumb  of  amber, 
They  thought  not  of — how  passing  soon 
Uses  of  gold  slip  thought  like  an  elf 
Once  eyes  are  pinned  to  the  coin  itself, 
As  if  a  man  came  hypnotized 
By  such  yellow  eye,  nor  realized 
His  whole  soul  fastened  by  its  glare 
To  look  not  sideways  nor  elsewhere! 
So  came  conference  among  us  three, 
Clacky  and  my  aunt  and  me 
That  I  might  try — I  thought,  perhaps, 
I  could  put  Clacky  to  his  taps, 
Albeit  if  my  aunt  once  cackled 
Clacky  would  dilate,  tap-shackled, 
Nor  mind  to  move,  scarce  could  he  speak 
To  gather  one  thought  in  the  week. 
So  wholly  was  he  overcome 
Just  by  her  low  dreary  drum 
Of  fondness  for  him,  till  he  thought: 
There  may  be  men  would  look  alive, 
Would  strike  their  knuckles  off  to  wive, 
But  Clacky  is  somewhat  to  be  sought ! 
"Now,"  said  I,  "here  you  have  it, 
True  as  dingey  is  to  davit: 


6o2  Moon  P'iclds,  or  Man  the  (jod 

Gone  is  this  Moon,  little  is  of  it 

Now  a  man  could  think  to  covet; 

Marriaj^e  would  be  for  little  use 

As  feathers  in  a  gutted  goose; 

An  end  is  now  of  mating,  of  death. 

Of  birth — we  draw  one  little  breath 

Which  is  left;  scarce  is  there  air 

Enough  about  us  for  five  to  share, 

Or  rib-up — look  for  a  lomp. 

Look  for  one  tiny  xiphias 

Or  May-apple,  for  a  spike  of  grass 

To  i^rop  a  poppy  in  a  swamp! 

Nothing  has  worth — think  you  shall  you 

Pouch  a  nickel  for  its  value 

When  in  the  land  no  more  is  wrought 

An  ilex  to  be  sold  or  bought? 

Moreover,  there  is  now  my  uncle 

In  his  cage — I  hear  him  crunkle. 

See  him  sweat  so  he  may  see 

One  justice  works  eternally, 

Yet,  fairly  as  our  job  is  jobbed, 

I  have  no  mind  to  see  him  robbed. 

So  look  you,  unless  this  folly-bride 

And  bridegroom-plan  be  tucked  aside 

I  give  you  this:  all  past  a  doubt 

I  '11  break  his  cage  and  let  him  out!" 

You  should  see  the  aunt-eyes  beam 

Like  two  head-lights  of  a  bream 

Fixed  on  a  weevil  in  a  stream ! 

Up  she  was,  arms  all  over 

Clacky,  as  a  wasp  will  hover 

To  clinch  to  rifle  a  tuft  of  clover ! 

Always  I  see,  if  a  world  of  care 

Be  taken  to  do  a  thing  unfair, 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  603 

Just  the  right  wit  is  wanting  there! 
No  sooner  now  had  Clacky  once  seen 
Her  eyes  grew  all  her  tyrant  fire 
At  mention  of  her  soul-desire, 
To  free  her  brother  quick  and  clean, 
Than  he  was  quick  to  see  the  claw 
Just  inside  her  love-making  maw! 

XIX 

My  aunt,  with  all  her  apple-prim  practice 
To  taste  all  facts  to  find  what  one  fact  is, 
Let  free  one  morning  how  she  knew 
Where  Natalie  was,  yet  thought  it  best 
To  keep  such  knowledge  from  the  rest 
For  so  many  reasons  she  could  not  tell 
How  she  came  to  such  thought  so  well. 
This  much  she  could  guarantee 
For  truth  as  touching  Natalie: 
She  was  contented  as  a  bee 
In  a  bud  shut  up  where  he  only  knows 
His  pink  sweet  chamber  of  satin  rose. 
Nor  cares  how  the  outside  bubble  blows. 
Clacky  she  gave  ujj  for  worse 
To  pocket  than  a  miser's  purse; 
She  thought  my  uncle  in  the  rookery 
Should  have  a  taste  of  his  own  crockery — 
So  peace  dominioned,  things  were  well 
As  could  be  in  our  kind  of  hell 
Which  was  life  to  such  little  end 
One  could  see  scarce  what  to  do, 
While,  barring  us  five,  not  a  friend 
But  he  was  gone — there  were  few 
Patches  left  in  our  mountain-stoop 


6o4  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Where  could  ^row  a  quill  or  drupe — 

Life  came  hard,  looked  at  through 

Mole-peeps  out  of  eyes  of  glue 

Men  so  prize  to  stickle  to — 

That  's  to  say,  men  make  for  what 

Has  value  by  the  common  lot, 

That  which  may  be  sold  or  bought. 

Piled  up,  eaten,  sung,  vowelled, 

One  wherewithal  for  smell  or  touch, 

If  only  an  onion  at  a  clutch, 

So  my  man  go  pretty-bowelled 

As  if  he  grew  a  gut  to  pack  it 

To  one  end,  that  he  plump  his  jacket 

To  live  his  days  out — no  plan  of  a  plan 

To  measure  up  such  kind  of  man 

As  stakes  all  for  no  other  than 

To  make  of  him  all  there  is  of  a  man. 

So,  if  one  first  purpose  be  this. 

Not  to  give  out,  but  to  get  what  is. 

And  he  lose  what,  to  him,  is  all. 

To  wit,  the  one  thing  he  is  after. 

Treacle-pot,  sun-heap,  volley-laughter, 

Then  is  his  star  past-finding  small, 

Then  worlds  fly  up  that  they  may  fall. 

To  make  lustration:  Clacky  once  thought 

One  pretty  field-patch  could  be  sought 

Where  my  aunt  and  he,  once  they  married. 

Might  compass  peace  if  old  age  tarried. 

One  henbane  lot  near  the  Villa  Peach, 

Now  not  a  bee-song  within  reach. 

Pin-apple  nor  scops-owl  screech. 

So  said  I  to  him:  "What  is  your  use 

Of  space,  of  any  mere  Moon-acres 

With  not  an  inch  to  gain  or  lose. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  605 

The  place  clean  stripped  of  cakes  and  bakers, 

Locklords  and  swampish  hellebores 

And  wine-trees  and  fastened  doors? — 

Free  as  the  raining  sun-down  pours 

You  own  these  mountains,  score  and  scores, 

This  whole  Moon-pot  world  is  yours!" 

There  he  hiccupped  and  was  off 

Into  the  kind  of  booby-cough 

A  man  will  play  at  once  he  clinches 

Truth  to  find  the  truth  so  pinches 

He  will  not  want  you  should  know 

How  like  the  devil  it  pinches  so, 

So  begins  to  trick  and  quobble 

In  his  gills  to  twist  your  thinking. 

Mix  you  in  his  wind-pipe  squabble 

So  you  shall  not  mark  his  shrinking. 

Dropped  his  jaw  like  an  apron-flap 

Full  of  plums — I  give  it  a  slap 

And  nought  is  left  but  the  empty  lap! 

So  much  for  Clacky  and  his  marriage, 

His  Villa  Peach,  his  calamint. 

Blue  wine,  velvet  carriage. 

With  just  his  little  keyhole  squint 

At  truth — truth  meant  to  shape  a  soul 

Out  of  a  moon,  shape  the  rose  in  bole. 

XX 

One  morning,  just  at  day-rawe. 
Nothing  in  the  castle  to  stay  for, 
I  and  my  mother  took  to  ambling 
In  the  mountain,  above  our  villa. 
If  we  might  hear  a  brambling. 
Pick  a  switch  of  alfilerilla. 


6o6  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Watch  the  princely  morning  stripe 

A  rock  like  a  thrush  when  his  breast  is  ripe. 

We  two  just — yet  were  we  one 

More  than  dawn  and  yellow  sun — 

Oh,  what  belly-less  human  blunder 

Could  put  such  love  as  ours  asunder? 

Each  the  other  tried  to  hearten, 

Looked  for  glow-fly,  beach-marten, 

Any  kind  of  small  exertion 

To  scrape  a  handful  of  diversion. 

While  straight  through  our  solcmncst  while 

Would  come  one  look-alert  of  hers, 

As  a  throstle's  eye  when  a  blossom  stirs, 

As  'round  it  lay  her  rainbow  smile, 

While  each  day  I  could  see  she  grew 

Foot-feebler,  part  thinner  through, 

Would  pull,  by  times,  for  a  breath 

As  they  who  are  in  tug  with  death; 

So  was  the  gifted  air  burnt  out. 

Came  scarce  a  gulletful  about; 

Peach-meats,  quince  or  ople-tree 

Or  strip  of  purple  bitter-balled 

Vine-climber  of  grapish  gree 

Were  most  of  all  which  one  could  see 

To  tempt  him,  now  stomach  smalled. 

Housed  in  one  angle  of  a  notch 

Where  fire  struck  once  to  cut  a  scotch. 

We  rested,  her  pale  hand  on  mine 

For  such  June-touch  a  man  remembers 

When  life  is  only  all  Decembers 

And  only  thought  is  palatine. 

"This  Natalie,"  she  went  on  to  say, 

"What  of  your  loss  of  her? 

You  gave  her  up  for  me  that  day 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  607 

Your  uncle  made  such  stir 

About  what  I  could  not  understand 

Was  coining  in  his  cunning  hand — 

Should  you  not  go  to  her  now, 

Take  her  for  love,  keep  her  for  wife 

After  the  way  the  world  knows  how? — 

There  's  the  meaning  of  Moon  and  life 

And  purpose,  far  as  men  see  it 

Who  mean  to  swallow  the  world  and  be  it; 

Minnows  we  to  tickle  in  a  stream 

Where  star-balls  out  of  every  sky 

Dot  the  water,  eye  for  eye, 

Just  shadow  only,  only  a  dream 

Which  catches  never  one  real  star, 

But  only  what  it  seems  to  seem, 

And  things  are  nowhere  what  they  are. 

Then,  therefore,  will  it  all  behoove 

Man  that  he  mind  his  pie-wise  ways 

To  grub  and  grunt,  make  sport  of  love, 

Have  pastime  and  pretty  days — 

All  is  below,  nothing  above 

Save  stars  to  fly  to — there  's  truth  enough!" 

This- wise  I  answered:  "If  things  seem 

Not  what  they  are,  but  are  only  dream 

Illusion,  then  back  of  them  must  be 

Their  cause,  one  real  reality ; 

So,  if  I  stick  to  what  I  need 

Life- wise,  that  is  to  say,  to  breathe, 

Kick,  eat,  paddle  till  I  teethe, 

Get  to  love  enough  to  breed, 

I  live  only  to  sleep  and  dream 

Things  which  are  not  what  they  seem. 

While  comes  my  second  thought — for  sample, 

Take  love  as  men  do,  think  it  ample: 


6o8  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Should  I  turn  back  to  Natalie, 

There  would  be  love  such  as  I  see 

The  world  makes  most  of,  comes  to  covet 

To  live  by,  then  lives  to  love  it, 

And  nothing  nobler  for  gonfalon 

Than  just  this  world  to  whirlpool  on, 

Men  to  multiply  more  and  more 

For  their  level  gains  of  heretofore. 

Keep  to  one  course  without  a  blunder 

By  all  ways  of  least  resistance 

So  they  may  live  to  love  existence, 

Mark  time  only  to  knock  under, 

And  life  will  have  sparrowed — their  small  spell 

Will  ripple  in  one  passing-bell 

Which  has  no  more  than  this  to  tell: 

Gluttony  glutted  and  all  is  well! 

By  my  promise  I  am  under 

I  put  my  Natalie  asunder 

For  you,  O  unforgotten  mother, 

For  love  such  as  could  have  no  other 

In  all  my  group  of  years 

To  match  it  out  of  yonder  sky 

Which  touches  so  deep,  soars  so  high, 

Yet  makes  no  end  of  clinging  spheres ! 

One  love  just,  only  my  love. 

To  look  not  beyond  it,  not  above 

To  question  if  it  be  enough 

To  have  a  purpose,  to  gain  an  end 

More  than  one  endless  spirit-friend. 

One  soul-mate,  so  fine,  so  true 

The  stars  must  widen  to  let  you  through." 

There  's  my  best — nor  counts  the  rest, 

So  I  get  all  my  mighty  best, 

Which  is  that  which  I  was  made  for, 


Mcon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  609 

What  earth's  earth-worms  better  spade  for 

To  not  be  thinking  so  soggily  much 

Of  how  to  burrow,  of  what  to  clutch. 

Since  things  are  not  what  they  seem, 

But  a  dream,  then  just  another  dream, 

And  I  find  how  what  in  me  is  best 

Runs  counter  to  what  makes  for  power 

And  prosperment  for  just  a  nest 

Of  gold-heap  to  yield  one  hour 

Of  sun-vine,  of  little  glitter 

That  I  may  pipe  my  sparrow-twitter, 

Have  I  not  proof  enough  just  so 

That  what  in  me  is  loftiest  best 

Goes  not  the  way  the  grub-worms  go 

Under  conqueror  custom  east  and  west. 

But  contra  wise,  as  soars  my  love 

So  far  from  this  Moon  and  above 

As  to  have  small  use  here  to  serve  an  end 

Or  Moon-purpose — witness  her  hand 

I  hold  now  and  I  would  not  give 

My  hold  of  up,  if  even  to  live 

And  love  and  prosper  in  any  land 

Of  unsurpassable  blossomy  breath — 

Rather  my  love  which  reasoneth 

The  world  is  second,  gain  and  the  rest 

Which  make  for  power  and  brood  and  nest, 

Once  give  me  that  in  me  which  is  best 

That  I  may  silence  and  sink  the  rest. 

So  say  I,  since  those  things  I  see 

Are  other  than  what  they  seem  to  be. 

That  what  once  is  or  ever  was 

Has  back  of  it  one  nobler  cause 

Than  what,  to  my  seeing,  all  things  are. 

And  I  my  choice  to  trim  and  spar 


6io  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

The  Moon-way  just  to  keep  my  hold 
On  brood  and  power  and  cake  of  gold, 
Or  to  come  above  it  for  just  my  reason 
That  I  find  such  soul  in  me 
As  loves  to  be  so  out  of  season 
With  what  I  taste  or  touch  or  see, 
Has  learned  the  right  of  mighty  treason 
Against  what  only  seems  to  be, 
Towers  towards  true  reality — 
Then  will  I  seize  yon  rainbow-tie 
Which  tries  to  ribbon-knot  a  sky, 
And,  be  the  view  off  unending-far, 
I  tie  me  all  knots  to  my  rising  star. 

XXI 

Fall  is  all.     Trees  have  lost  their  lips; 

No  whisper  where  the  south  wind  slips, 

Only  mute  signs  from  finger-tips. 

Sun-beam  and  apricot-rod 

Hit  at  each  other,  like  as  before — 

Now  only  the  dumping  nod, 

Never  the  rose's  red  vein  more. 

A  trick-eagle — one  which  Clacky  had 

For  scholarship,  knew  good  and  bad. 

Would  light  at  his  shoulder-strap  to  perch 

For  solemn  as  an  empty  church, 

Flap  at  his  eyes  to  set  him  winking. 

Scratch  at  his  head  to  put  him  thinking, 

Pluck  him,  man-fashion,  by  an  ear 

To  pull  bell  out  so  he  could  hear 

If  one  were  talking  not  very  near — 

Brings  one  odd  thing  to  mind :  this  bird 

Would  take  possession  of  the  tower 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  6ii 

Where  was  my  uncle,  would  fold  and  cower 

To  captain  the  place — rook  was  not  heard 

Or  seen  in  any  near  pinaster, 

So  was  he  mighty  there  and  master. 

One  clean  morning,  right  as  I  turned 

To  lead  my  mother  down  our  slope 

Where  sun  in  dead  alfalfa  churned 

Wild  lemon,  May-pop,  heliotrope. 

Flew  there  this  bird  from  the  tower 

Plump  at  us,  like  an  arrow  pricks 

The  wind  so  not  a  dew- bead  sticks, 

Head-on  for  his  whole  eagle-power 

With  just  inside  his  lemon  beak 

One  white  flap  he  would  not  unloose 

— It  might  have  been  a  flag  of  truce — 

Looking  like  he  would  like  to  speak. 

There  he  hovered,  ]jlumb  above  us. 

Forty  feet  scarce  out  of  reach 

As,  with  his  kind  of  hobble-screech 

Never  meaning  he  could  love  us, 

On  he  went  circling  in  mid  air 

As  if  to  tempt  us  to  look  there, 

When,  with  one  puff-ruflfle  to  us 

In  one  new  kind  of  milder  tone, 

One  not  born  of  hucklebone, 

He  dropped  the  white  flap  down  to  us! 

My  uncle's  missive — thus  it  read: 

"Once  give  me  freedom,  you  may  take 

Natalie  and  mother  both — my  stake 

My  castle,  with  all  I  crave, 

Myself  to  boot  for 

"Your  Very  Slave." 
What  to  do,  how  to  answer? 
Sooner  would  I  crave  a  cancer 


6i2  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

At  this  throat  than  one  clean  grip 

'Twixt  his  thumb  and  finger-tip. 

Liar,  he,  to  the  back-tccth,  he, 

Now  stript  of  his  principaHty 

Of  right,  there  being  nought  he  saw 

Now  left  worth  being  rightful  for ! 

On  t'  other  hand  look:  he  was  human 

As  any  man,  as  any  woman 

To  want  greatness,  once  he  knew 

Greatness  in  me  to  button  to. 

Go  we  so  in  pairs,  we  human; 

That  I  find  in  my  Yahoo-man; 

How  to  make  a  man  your  prisoner? — 

Put  him  squarely  so  on  his  honor. 

Lives  there  no  kind  of  human  art 

Like  trusting  me  to  touch  my  heart. 

So,  too,  my  honest  word  he  had. 

Come  what  might  come,  good  or  bad, 

I  shall  never  once  ask  to  see 

Or  know  again  of  my  Natalie. 

I  shall  not  take  a  man  in  a  trap 

To  pinch  his  liver,  fetch  him  my  rap 

To  trim  my  purpose  by  his  fate; 

Such  might  be  fashion y — never  great. 

My  terms  with  him  so  fast  were  fixed, 

While,  'though  the  prisoners  got  mixed 

In  his  tower- trap,  shifted  places, 

I  must  not  balk  nor  jump  the  traces. 

Hovered  there  above  us  our  eagle 

'Round  and  'round,  as  if  he  swirled 

To  circum-dominate  a  world 

To  talon-tie  it  to  his  regie. 

This  I  saw,  he  was  not  skating 

Clouds  for  nought — there  he  was  waiting : 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  613 

So  wrote  I  on  the  reverse  side 
My  missive:  "You  are  free! 
Natalie  is  yours,  too,  for  bride, 
So  you  leave  my  mother  to  me." 
This  much  I  tossed  to  the  wind, 
While  quicker  than  I  could  see, 
Quick  as  the  leven  looks  to  be, 
My  eagle  was  down  and  had  it  pinned 
And  back  again  with  his  whole  feline 
Screech  to  point  and  track  a  bee-line 
To  the  tower  to  know  his  master's  fate 
Right  as  the  clock-hand  counted  eight. 

I  turned  my  sky-quartz  down  instead 

To  see  what  a  wider  angle  said — 

The  lip  was  white,  but  the  breath  was  red. 

XXII 

I  saw  not  my  uncle  after  that; 

Chagrin  at  what  he  elbowed  at, 

Once  to  rob  me  of  my  mother, 

Once  to  rob  her  of  her  share 

Of  rainbow-bridge,  lilac  air. 

Cheat  her  of  chance,  then  to  smother 

Each  fine  whisper  which  tried  to  rise, 

Would  force  a  lynx  to  turn  his  eyes 

Away  from  her,  away  from  me 

By  the  felon-look  which  hates  to  see. 

He  died,  as  most  men  will  die, 

Looking  for  somewhat,  pumping  his  sigh 

For  more  palace,  for  less  need. 

Any  new  way  to  root  and  feed, 

To  play  gullet,  to  pipe  tricks 


6i4  Moon  iMclds,  or  Man  the  God 

Mouth-up,  soul-under  in  the  Styx. 

How  I  have  wondered  how  men 

Come  to  their  dry  longing  again 

For  what  's  about,  to  get  a  hand 

At  new  clutching,  twitch  a  latch 

To  open  the  new  Paradise-hatch — 

Most  as  a  child  if  he  be  squeezed 

Into  shouts  of  holiday  joy 

By  pinching  his  new  trumpet-toy 

Nor  knows  his  own  sotd,  how  it  is  pleased. 

Just  as  if  I  am  not  more 

Than  Moon  fields,  or  tapestried  shore 

Of  swimming  worlds,  or  fiddle-faddle 

Atoms  which  seek  to  play  and  paddle, 

More  than  this  privilege  to  live 

Throat-fashion  by  my  world-way, 

More  than  I  seem  or  you  may  say, 

Or  any  Heaven  which  Heaven  could  give! 

So  say  I  how  I  have  wondered 

How  men  have  twisted  and  so  blundered 

Into  this,  that  any  potter's  clay 

Or  anything  of  earth  or  heaven, 

Outside  of  soul,  which  could  be  given 

To  men  for  them  to  have  and  hold, 

Their  love  of  throat,  their  doll-gold. 

Could  be  of  value  more  than  they ! 

So,  as  they  live  to  think,  they  die, 

Dying  to  think  a  kind  of  hope 

Which  keeps  at  asking  "how,"  "why,"' 

Or  what  's  outside  this  envelope 

Of  dew  and  dust  to  grasp 

While  they  fetch  their  smothered  gasp, 

Never  rising  once  like  Gods 

To  die  and  never  count  the  odds! 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  615 

What  is  this  last  sorrow-sigh 

I  draw,  now  I  lie  down  to  die, 

Save  my  first  breath  of  divinity? 

Count  you  your  gains  by  tens,  elevens, 

This  life,  any  life,  power,  pelf. 

Yet  this  one  omnipresent  self 

Counts  higher  than  a  hundred  heavens. 

What  boots  this  privilege  of  mine 

To  die,  save  one  more  chance  to  play 

The  man  to  dominate  my  way 

By  masterdom,  the  trick  divine? 

So,  if  I  look  to  sum  the  sum 

Of  struggle  where  once  I  fought. 

Whether  of  life  or  death  or  what, 

Whether  I  won  at  it  or  not. 

The  thing  was  there  to  be  overcome 

For  mightiness,  one  God-grown  plan 

Meant  to  spirit,  to  man  the  man. 

To  die  is  divine — oh,  be  so  sure 

No  star  points  an  eyelet  truer 

To  see  beyond  dark,  all  ways. 

What  the  wish  winks,  heart  says 

Is  true  of  your  struggle  or  mine : 

One  last  breath  at  it  is  divine! 

XXIII 

How  they  die,  these  people, 

Looking  to  their  church-steeple 

To  point  somewhat,  one  new  grist 

Of  cheap  chaff,  somewhat  they  have  missed, 

Anything,  so  they  see  it  plain, 

A  new  play,  a  profity  gain 

To  pocket  one  eyeful  of  pelf — 


6i6  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Devil  take  this  eminent  self 

Which  can  compass  so  much,  climb 

Each  high  Heaven  so  that  the  climb 

And  not  the  Heaven  is  the  thing  sublime! 

How  small  it  looks,  this  day-life  size, 

Since,  howsoever  great  the  prize. 

No  man  lives  greater  than  he  dies! 

For  now  came  my  aunt — she  next 

Began  to  falter,  read  the  text 

Which  bubbled  about  us  how  we 

Are  come  here  just  to  effort  to  be 

What  there  is  of  us,  count  not  the  odds, 

Whether  there  be  loss  or  gain. 

If  the  end  look  large  or  vain. 

But  men  to  be  men,  since  "  Ye  are  Gods." 

Sour  as  a  pickle- jug  across  face. 

Each  wrinkle  playing  out  of  place. 

Came  my  aunt  this  day — I  could  see 

Her  turn  was  next,  her  hand  pass  passes 

Before  her  just  to  brush  away 

Death-heads  which  were  spitting  gases 

Of  nightshade  meant  only  to  slay. 

The  meaning  in  it  she  knew  as  I  did, 

To  wit,  her  Moon-doom  was  decided, 

So  she  must  go  her  way,  your  way. 

My  way — there  's  the  open  doorway — 

One  only  question  my  time  being. 

Far  as  my  plain  eyes  are  seeing. 

Will  I  play  coward  so  I  go 

As  if  the  devil  dared  me  so. 

Or  stand,  man-fashion  as  a  God, 

Grin  my  grin  at  the  yawning  sod? 

Came  there  my  aunt,  was  catching  staggers. 

Wrought  her  spleen-best  to  look  daggers. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  617 

Her  night-pit  face  of  that  sour  scowl 

Would  make  a  dog  back  back  to  howl, 

All  because  I  dropped  not  a  word 

For  bait,  could  not  play  parson-bird 

To  croon,  crop-stuff  her  to  think 

The  thing  to  look  to  across  the  brink 

Is  some  crown-jewel-catch-me-kink ! 

She  took  her  way,  she  would  have  it, 

Fast  fastened  as  an  affidavit : 

She  must  keep  her  greed  to  go  on 

So  to  surpass  an  entozoon; 

The  thing  to  clutch  at  counts  for  king, 

Not  any  royal  Godful  fling 

Of  integral  power  which  comes  of  Right, 

Of  pure  purpose,  almighty  striving 

For  more  than  this  mere  honey-hiving 

Or  empyrean  peak  in  sight. 

Never  that  for  her  crop  ever; 

But  aught  to  get  to,  to  take  hold  of, 

Like  her  Moon  to  make  her  gold  of. 

One  chance  more  to  be  so  clever 

At  keeping  soul  and  body  together 

By  thought  about  as  even  great 

As  a  spoonbill  when  he  slues  his  pate 

Due  east  to  gripe  and  wipe  a  feather! 

Will  a  man  get  greated  by  hope. 

Not  by  facing  force,  'though  he  grope 

To  not  know  ever  where  he  goes 

Nor  why,  save  to  make  him  man 

And  master  on  one  sky-like  plan 

Which  lets  him  reap  the  what  he  sows, 

Pluck  up  more  the  less  he  knows. 

Like  a  sailor  more  mans  his  bark 

Who  cuts  his  seas  down  through  the  dark? 


6i8  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Hope  pets,  dandles,  softens,  bribes; 
My  sky-like  ])lan  hurls  out  gibes 
Of  vshot,  or  thunders  diatril)es. 
Looks  facefuls  of  threat  by  frowns — 
Man  makes  strong  by  what  he  downs. 
So  she  overlooked  herself — most  do — 
To  see  if  she  could  make  out  a  case 
Of  claim  to  some  one  better  place 
By  her  glut-eye  of  the  cockatoo. 
She  died  her  way — so  the  beetle-breeze 
Dies  in  a  bunch  of  cockle-trees — 
There  's  my  skimmer-bee  flies  over 
His  mallow-bed,  sea  of  clover, 
To  nest  in  one  poppy,  red-breast  fair 
Of  promise — he  sucks  no  syrup  there. 

XXIV 

Next  to  find  Natalie — my  aunt  gone 

And  uncle,  all  she  leaned  upon, 

I  by  my  promise  no  longer  bound. 

Here  was  law — Natalie  must  be  found. 

So  to  it  Clacky  and  I  put  head 

And  heel,  each  to  play  ferret 

To  nose  the  castle,  pit  to  garret. 

Till  not  in  the  winding  place  was  trestle 

Or  box-lock  where  we  did  not  wrestle 

To  find  her — we  took  smart  care 

To  well  below  and  over-stair 

So  not  a  well-end  but  was  searched 

To  the  bell-tower  where  the  eagle  perched, 

Yet  was  no  Natalie  lurking  there. 

What  could  'come  of  her? — he  could  not 

Have  left  her  somewhere  cornered  to  die. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  619 

For  lack  of  dew,  after  the  lot 

Of  wake-robin  in  parching  plot — 

So  was  it  Clacky  there  and  I 

Kept  musing  through  the  night  to  know 

Where  she  could  be,  how  she  could  slink 

To  where  not  one  of  us  could  think, 

So  were  we  boxed  and  puzzled  so. 

Could  it  be,  when  my  uncle  went, 

He  took  her  with  him,  the  sly  dog, 

To  bear  her  above  fire  and  fog 

Into  the  roundabout  firmament? 

For  so  have  I  known  men  to  say 

They  had  mighty  leaning  such  way 

To  take  the  loved  one  with  them  too 

Into  their  dark  whereunto — 

My  doubt  is  if  he  went  her  way ! 

Kept  we  our  musing,  Clacky  and  I, 

This  way,  any  way  about  it 

Till — so  it  seemed — they  let  her  die 

And  never  word  to  us — no  doubt  it 

Pleased,  in  my  uncle,  the  selfish  cur 

To  know  I  could  not  look  to  her. 

Plumb  on  the  instant  when  I  sighed 

To  think  of  it,  how  she  must  have  died. 

The  world  between  us  so  hard  and  wide. 

Came  there  one  bell-note  from  the  tower 

Put  white  streaks  across  our  faces, 

Twitched  our  tough  hearts  from  their  places — 

A  bell — and,  too,  at  such  night  hour 

To  go  on  tolling,  so  softly  tolled 

Into  darkness  where  it  rolled 

I  thought  the  tongue  in  it  was  souled. 

Or,  like  enough  some  night-hag  hovered 

To  tap  it  when  the  sun  was  covered — 


620  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Wc  three  only,  Clacky  and  I 
And  my  mother  in  our  wasted  Moon 
Now  left  to  undertake  a  sigh. 
Notice  a  moss-cheeper  out  of  tune — 
My  mother  in  her  hallway  sleeping 
Like  her  last  sleep — scarce  was  creeping 
Breath  enough  to  her  lip  for  thought 
To  tell  if  she  were  there  or  not. 
Now  I  harked  for  any  culver 
To  croon,  any  lisp  of  hulver, 
As  went  on  tolling  the  tower-bell 
For  all  things  like  our  passing  knell, 
Now  I  and  Clacky  were  surely  coming 
To  the  bell-cote — we  w^ere  there  to  see 
The  author  of  such  devilish  drumming, 
V/hat  meant  it,  what  the  thing  could  be, 
When,  lo,  there  our  king-eagle  was, 
The  bell's  tongue  fastened  in  both  claws, 
He  flying  out  so  back  and  forth, 
Now  due  south,  now  due  north. 
To  fetch,  by  turns,  the  gong  a  rap 
Each  time  he  touched  on  either  side. 
His  sailor- wings  spread  open  wide, 
Shut  to  again,  flap  on  flap. 
As  if  he  strove  his  most  to  fly 
To  swing  his  bell-song  toward  the  sky 
So  we  might  think  it  his  own  ring 
And  he  the  song-eagle — bell  and  wing ! 

XXV 

Natalie  was  gone — small  doubt  of  that 
Conclusion  we  were  settled  at — 
The  truth  in  it  was  all  along 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  621 

Her  castle  wall,  in  the  eagle's  gong, 

In  every  genuflexion  or  sigh 

Of  her  linden-tree — which  said  good-bye. 

To  think  I  so  loved  her,  and  she  gone, 

And  I  not  one  small  whisper  to  her 

So  much  as  any  leaf  will  stir 

If  a  last  breath  of  day  be  drawn! 

Mine  was  another  love  than  now. 

My  last  love  which  takes  no  vow — 

Who  shall  say  what  love  is  or  how 

It  conquers  so  to  get  of  a  man 

The  God  in  him  always,  which  it  can 

In  proportion  just  to  each  fine  kind 

Of  soul  is  his,  dominion-mind 

And  heart — see  how  there  he  goes, 

Bee-fashion,  dives  for  sweet  all  over 

To  tumble  in  his  lap  of  clover 

Nor  minds  the  blush,  lets  not  his  rose 

Blind  him  to  the  sweet  which  flows, 

And  he  clips  only  the  treacle-best, 

The  wild  cold  wind  may  have  the  rest 

Of  sweetness  and  that  gentle  touch 

And  hand-spread  and  clover-nod 

Of  farewell  to  all  frosted  sod 

Which  count  so  little,  mean  so  much — 

Next  see  him,  his  pigwidgeon  way, 

Tuck  a  rose-leaf  in  his  lapel 

To  show  a  rose-like  look  at  chapel 

To  beckon  Phyllis  to  look  his  way — 

Till,  last,  such  long  years  after  that, 

Scarce  knowing  what  he  is  looking  at, 

One  rose  close-folded  in  a  book. 

Like  heart  in  casket,  while  come  to  look 

And,  lo,  the  tiny  flower  put  there 


622  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Those  very  many  years  before, 

Nor  lip  to  it  now  nor  honey-store 

Nor  pink  cheek,  yet  all  so  fair 

And  choice  to  him  past  all  compare 

He  finds  his  whole  heart  folded  there. 

Best  is  last,  last  last  is  best 

Because  one  harvest  of  all  the  rest — 

How  any  day,  any  leaf  will  fly 

Into  rich  raiment  the  hour  they  die: 

So  of  Natalie,  now  vshe  was  gone, 

A  new  love  come  to  take  her  place, 

The  last  best  love  of  any  race 

Of  men  since  any  men  were  born, 

To  learn  how  best  is  just  beyond 

What  makes  for  gain  to  them  or  power 

To  gain  gain,  howsoever  fond 

They  grow  of  their  pigging  hour; 

One  best  other  best  is  beyond, 

Comes  last,  so  clear  I  see  it  so 

How  soul  is  bound  to  be  it  so, 

How  this  poor  pot  of  only  youth 

I  cook  in  for  my  love  and  truth 

Cools  down,  while  comes  another  better 

Square  in  proportion  as  I  lose 

The  thing  I  first  begun  to  choose, 

And — there  's  my  truth  to  the  letter! 

Keen  love  of  Natalie  came  first. 

Love  of  the  mother  next  and  last. 

Yet  not  in  time  to  be  surpassed. 

Let  Heaven's  dominion  do  its  worst — 

There  she  is  now  left  to  me  now. 

Nor  tint  of  cheek,  not  one  slip 

Of  geranium  in  her  parlor-lip, 

Hand  shelved  against  the  pure  great  brow 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  623 

As  if  for  one  fast  long  sleep — 

Yet  soul  is  there  to  the  richest  deep. 


XXVI 

Clacky's  turn  was  next  — poor  Clacky 

Who  proved  he  was  both  prince  and  lackey, 

As  one  who  serves  and  will  wince 

For  love  of  you,  at  your  wink; 

Did  you  once  pause  ever  this  to  think 

How  he,  of  the  two,  is  real  prince? 

Tame  time-worn  Clacky — his  stoop 

Now  fetched  him  round  like  a  barrel-hoop 

Inside  which  gathered  xeres  and  jelly 

To  give  him  his  big  barrel-belly, 

So  that,  take  him  from  head  to  keel, 

He  was  one  wheel  within  a  wheel. 

Always  he  took  with  him  his  gaff 

He  would  hook  in  a  tree  or  cup 

Of  feldspar  to  pull  him  open-up. 

Then  the  one  strange  end  of  a  laugh. 

Like  a  rustling  gown,  spring-new  style, 

Complete  chuckle  without  the  smile. 

His  joy  that  in  any  kind  of  weather 

He  need  not  pull  himself  together! 

His  turn  now  to  die,  poor  fellow. 

He  took  two  thoughts  to  him  which  made 

His  last  task  hard,  eye-light  mellow 

As  a  star  when  it  begins  to  fade. 

His  painfullest  thought  this,  'though  I  dare 

Not  swear  it  was  his  first  for  fair. 

That  he  must  leave  my  mother  and  me 

Alone  so,  in  such  eternity; 


624  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

His  second,  how  this  life  was  sweet 

So  long  as  he  could  bibblc,  eat. 

While  to  leave  it  and  not  to  know 

If  juice  and  jam  should  play  their  part 

In  the  new  large  other  after-heart, 

Wheresoever  his  soul  might  go, 

Was  such  down-come,  such  cut-under. 

Such  a  kind  of  quaint  God-blunder, 

Truth  being  this,  that  his  pig-hunger 

Made  of  him  tripe  and  melon-monger. 

While  he,  in  his  last  days,  so  stript 

Of  what,  to  tickle  his  ribs,  he  had  lipt, 

Of  what  he  once  labored  to  get  enough, 

Pigeon-pattie  or  blubber-puff 

To  soften  his  soul,  harden  his  crup, 

Straighten  his  crooked  spine-line  up. 

He  lord  pot-knight  of  the  place. 

Could  do  the  drinking  of  his  race — 

To  have  to  throw  up  hands,  go 

To  a  closet  in  the  blue  dead  air, 

Nor  lip  to  ask,  nor  skull  to  know 

If  puff  or  pattie  waited  him  there 

Was,  to  all  his  eye- wide  wonder, 

Of  all  that  happened  above  or  under. 

Just  the  one  God-foolishest  blunder. 

Well,  he  did  his  best — God  knows 

How  a  man  dies  as  a  spike-rush  blows 

To  die  the  same  way  as  all  the  rest. 

While  one  thing  just  will  count  a  man 

In  this  plying  and  dying  plan. 

That  he  staked  his  all  on  it,  did  his  best. 

For  that,  just,  there  blooms  one  part 

I  keep  for  Clacky  in  this  heart, 

One  warmest  large  deep  lasting  part. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  625 

XXVII 

One  day  came  which  tried  to  do  me 

Its  worst:  one  cloud,  spotted  buff  to  black, 

So  rounded  as  a  leopard's  back, 

Showed  mouth  to  open,  lip  spumy 

Just  over  me,  all  as  if  the  thing 

Were  ready  for  one  giant-spring ; 

The  castle  inside  grew  death-gloomy 

As  lay  my  mother  there  scarce  able 

To  make  one  short  breath  comfortable 

In  the  sulphur-mix  of  air  which  came 

And  went  about  us,  hissing  gases 

Sucked  up  between  mountain-passes 

With  here  or  there  the  lick  of  flame 

To  warn  us — I  and  my  mother 

Alone  in  the  Moon,  never  another 

Live  soul,  we  two  so  alone. 

Just  my  determined  monotone 

To  make  the  most  of  it  and  the  best, 

'Though  no  way  clear  was  manifest 

For  life  to  a  purpose  as  men  see 

One  only  purpose  in  life  to  be 

To  get  more  life,  get  more  longing 

To  long-stretch  it,  get  more  belonging, 

Counting  it  all  true  value  to  be 

World-mighty,  not  man-mightily 

Manned  against  worlds,  against  fate,  for  fate. 

Small  matter  what  the  end  or  forfeit. 

This  leopard-day,  latest  morning. 

Arbalest  in  arm,  I  took  my  path 

Up  Petavius,  sky  scorning, 

In  through  yellow  aftermath 

To  see  if  I  could  trap  a  fox 


626  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Or  crow-shrike  between  the  rocks — 
Their  Hfe  for  my  life — a  man  will  breathe 
A  trifle  louder,  somewhat  longer, 
Pull  his  shins  up  a  little  stronger 
If  he  get  a  lintie  between  his  teeth — 
Came  then,  sudden,  this  new  thought : 
Claims  not  all  life  one  right  to  live? 
There  I,  for  my  own  heart,  could  not 
Take  life  away  which  I  could  not  give. 
Since  each  small  thing  w^hich  creeps, 
Slaps  back,  spits,  puffs,  eats,  and  sleeps 
Is  like  me,  just  a  soul-size  smaller, 
I  cousin  to  it  and  biped  crawler 
For  more  power  so  I  may,  at  will, 
Trample,  slash,  smash,  stick,  and  kill, 
Yet  see  nor  man  in  it  nor  love 
Nor  soul-fiight  nor  spirit-trait 
Under  the  starlights  or  above 
To  noble  me,  to  count  me  great — 
So  moralled,  just  so  I  acted, 
So  too,  as  matter  of  fact,  did 
What  I  thought  my  best  to  do, 
Just  the  very  best  I  knew 
Heart  could  crave,  soul  could  boast, 
And  hell  could  take  the  hindermost: 
Back  I  brought  my  empty  pouch 
That  day,  and  never  bird,  I  vouch. 
Mark  now  how  the  thing  called  Right 
Runs,  in  the  long  run,  friend  with  Might, 
As  by  one  law  above  crown,  above  curse, 
Which  surely  circles  the  universe: 
Scarce  was  I  come  to  Griffard  gate 
Where  the  clock's  hand  pointed  late 
When,  far  from  me  overhead  and  straight 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  627 

As  I  could  look  to  the  zenith,  flew, 

By  one  round  flight,  my  eagle-king 

To  cut  one  cleanest  perfect  ring 

For  pastime  in  his  lap  of  blue, 

Flung  such  sweep  at  it,  circled  so  far, 

I  thought  I  saw  him  lassoo  a  star. 

Next  instant,  by  one  shoot-up  quick 

As  pickerel  plunges  in  his  creek. 

Came  he  to  one  wonderful  poise 

Plumb  clean  over  the  castle  peak, 

As  cloud  will  when  soft  wind  buoys, 

And,  whether  on  the  thing  intent 

Or  by  some  kind  of  accident. 

Ere  I  could  put  me  half  on  guard 

He  dropped  a  grouse  in  our  marble  yard. 

Could  it  be  this  way:  he  knew 

How  I  and  my  mother  grew 

To  hungerment  as  each  moment  flow  ? 

Or  was  it  Clacky  who  could  now 

Have  put  it  in  the  eagle's  brow 

To  feed  us — Clacky,  who  one  day  learned 

Life  is  hope  when  chops  are  churned. 

Who  now,  saints  grant  it,  so  had  luffed 

To  somewhere  where  his  ribs  were  stuffed, 

So  took  compassion  on  us  to  tell 

The  eagle  he  must  feed  us  well? 

Be  it  either  way,  plain  there  was 

One  of  those  supremity-laws 

Which  make  for  power  if  there  come  cause 

For  performance,  transcendant  duty, 

And  man  play  man  for  love  of  Beauty. 

There  now  on  her  chopper-cot  lay 

My  mother,  bedded  just  inside 

Pale  curtains  where  Moonlights  hide — 


628  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

How  I  could  see  it  was  her  last  day! 

Just  at  the  bed-edge  I  was  sitting 

To  watch  one  plum-bush  at  our  window 

The  mountain  wind  stripped  and  thinned  so 

The  branches  worked  cross-wise,  as  if  knitting, 

While  there  was  I  too  being  stripped 

Like  a  falcon,  all  talons  clipped, 

To  be  left  there  behind  to  weave 

Nothing  which  I  could  perceive 

Save  heartache  and  hard  grieving. 

So  watched  the  tiny  bush-ends  weaving, 

Held  her,  my  mother,  by  each  hand. 

Knew  one  next  light  whisper-sigh. 

If  drawn,  must  breathe  me  her  good-bye. 

Watched  each  cheek,  saw  shoulder-skin 

Hug  the  bone-sides  closer  in. 

As  a  swallow  will,  full  might. 

Clap  her  wings  close  to  and  tight 

Just  before  she  takes  to  flight. 

Branch  of  her  young  hyssop  plant 

Took  one  downward  oblique  slant 

To  her  pillow,  just  there  to  lie, 

Much  as  if  wanting,  too,  to  die. 

The  clock — strange,  there  was  no  time 

Which  looked  us,  nor  use  of  chime, 

Since  nought  to  do  was,  to  think,  to  see. 

All  time  all  the  one  to  me — 

The  clock  was  stopping,  each  hist 

Came  more  muffled — so  I  missed 

The  time- tick  in  her  gentle  wrist, 

My  mother's  wrist,  so  tiny  small 

I  could  scarce  see  wrist  at  all. 

Right  as  I  came  to  thinking  on 

What  must  come  of  me  and  she  gone, 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  629 

What  I  could  dream  at,  what  I  should  do 

If  her  fine  hand  were  there  no  more, 

Robin-eye  of  such  buoyant  blue 

To  put  me  steady,  strong  as  before, 

Came  there  just  one  slightest  cast 

Of  lip  one  side,  one  softest  breath 

I  took  to  be  her  solemn  last 

Sweet  welcome  to  welcomest  death, 

Begun  to  speak,  each  eye  broke  free 

As  I  have  seen  two  stars  look  out 

Once  the  cloud  is  put  to  rout, 

All  her  whole  look  meant  for  me, 

Such  eye-light  out  of  mighty  dawn 

To  star  me  and  stay  me,  on  and  on. 

Thought  I,  I  saw  such  look  of  rest 

Come  in  her  face  as  now  she  drew 

One  paper  from  its  hiding-breast 

To  hand  to  me — by  which  I  knew 

That  was  there  she  could  not  say 

Now  death  had  once  begun  to  play 

Between  the  lips — this  only,  "The  Truth" — 

Her  last  words — 't  was  all  she  said — 

Drew  her  last  sigh  in  and  was  dead. 

Oh,  what  is  this  lonely  power 

Of  spirit,  every  hour  by  hour 

To  grow,  only  to  lose,  the  flow^er. 

Unless  the  whole  sweetness  of  it  be 

My  soul-part  which  grows  for  me 

Nobler  new  Beauty  I  may  not  see 

For  blindness  to  all  reality ! — 

Could  real  being  cease  to  be, 

There  could  be  no  eternity 

Of  Beauty  for  sign  to  me — 

My  blindness,  which  I  call  death 


630  Moon  Melds,  or  Man  the  God 

In  her  who  only  lacks  a  breath 

To  talk  ayain,  to  look  less 

Than  this  new  wondrous  loveliness 

I  feel  at,  yet  may  not  know, 

The  Beauty  of  it  blinding  so, 

So  that,  'twixt  me  and  my  sweet  friend 

There  lives  one  spirit,  soul  without  end, 

To  which  the  live  creations  bend? 

So  between  me  and  my  mother. 

One  soul  between  us  two,  no  other. 

As  so  it  seems  now,  for  instead 

Of  her  there  who  so  deeply  sighed 

To  leave  me,  who  so  looked  like  dead, 

I  thought  it  was  myself  that  died. 

XXVIII 

Her  letter — her  last  voice. 

Like  one  white  wave  of  breath 

To  come  to  me  just  after  death 

To  heart  me  to  make  right  choice 

'Twixt  knocking  under  to  play  whipped, 

And  mounting,  spirit-fashion,  to  down 

This  bold  universe  and  its  frown, 

I  not  to  know  I  had  been  stripped — 

Her  letter — all  just  as  it  was, 

I  give  it  you  now,  clause  for  clause: 

"When  I  am  gone,  after  then, 

But  before  you  close  my  eyes 

Like  lockets  to  keep  your  face 

Forever  in  their  hiding-place, 

Have  one  look  to  me  again, 

Circumspectly,  more  precise, 

Raise  the  head  just,  have  a  care 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  631 

You  smoothc  back  my  white  drift  of  hair- — 

You  '11  find  the  spring-auburn  under  there! 

Remove,  then,  each  pine-marten  mask 

Of  cheek,  nor  ever  mind  the  task 

Of  painstaking  to  uncrinkle 

Each  little  wholly  hand-made  wrinkle; 

Remove  pale  pigment,  the  collar-coat 

Which  snugs  to  smuggle  my  white  throat — 

Next,  having  done  that  much,  why  then 

Have  one  look  to  me  again 

To  find  how  craftily  is  truth 

Concealed,  by  every  way,  from  youth; 

To  find,  in  what  remains  that  is  fair 

Of  her  which  death  thought  good  to  spare, 

Enough  to  show  3'ou  your  Natalie  there! 

But  how  could  it  happen  so,  you  ask; 

Why  the  old  cheek,  withered  mask 

For  quaint  counterfeit  to  make  plain 

You  should  not  know  Natalie  again? 

Let  me,  then,  nothing  prefatory. 

Come  straight  to  the  truth  of  the  story : 

Your  uncle  wanted  me  for  wife. 

That  much  you  knew  at  start; 

He  knew  he  could  not  have  my  heart, 

'Though  on  that  hazard  was  staked  his  life. 

Your  young  love  of  me  he  knew, 

Knew  you  were  nobler  than  he,  too, 

So  held  advantage  through  and  through; 

By  fair  means  he  could  look  to  never 

Way  to  compass  his  end  in  view, 

So  thought  him  of  what  he  counted  clever. 

One  way  to  baffle  and  snaffle  you : 

First  he  would  clap  me  in  the  tower, 

A  task  all  as  easily  done 


632  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

As  to  command  the  setting  sun 

To  set  and  do  it  on  the  hour, 

Seeing  he  was  chief,  could  command, 

So  caught  me  one  day  by  the  hand, 

And  'We  will  go,'  he  said,  'to  see 

How  things  go  in  the  rookery,' 

Till,  all  before  I  scarce  could  wink 

An  eye  open  to  try  to  think. 

He  had  me  there  for  not  a  word 

More  than  *  he  had  caged  his  bird.' 

There  that  night  he  left  me  to  see 

How  I  liked  traps,  gave  me  taste 

Of  his  kind  of  supremacy 

Before  he  should  risk  it  to  waste 

An  hour  to  try  to  bring  me  to  terms — 

Soul  yields  most,  thought  he,  when  it  squirms. 

One  night  won  me — so  the  next  day 

I  was  quite  ready,  within  reason, 

To  do  what  should  not  prove  true  treason 

To  you — he  might  have  his  way 

And  welcome,  so  the  scheme  was  what 

Could  compromise  my  conscience  not. 

So  next  day  there  almightily 

He  came,  as  always  small  men  do 

With  power  they  are  not  wonted  to, 

To  talk  of  himself  small-mightily. 

Proved  the  guzzle-pig,  lord  prelate 

Of  kickshaw- wisdom,  last  appellate, 

And  then — how,  by  Jove,  could  a  girl 

Resist  his  eye-making,  that  curl 

Of  kitten- whisker  tied  to  his  chin, 

Latch -string  to  pull  at  to  get  in. 

Or  how  under  Orpheus  could  I  quell 

My  liking  for  the  silver  bell 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  633 

His  voice  had  (as  when  he  said, 

'  You  keep  the  tower  till  you  are  dead 

Or  bow  to  my  Apollo-spell,') 

Or  how  shoiild  I  escape  the  snare 

Of  his  speckled  tunic,  collar-care. 

His  tapestried  paddles  debonair 

For  trapping  a  maiden  unaware? 

Senses,  but  how  the  wild  man  talked, 

Eyed  me,  snapped  the  wolf  and  balked ! — 

First,  he  loved  me,  I  was  his  dove 

Of  divine  message,  which  was  love — 

Then  the  white  lip,  scarce  he  would  breathe 

For  glaring  at  me  not  to  conceal 

His  ultra-blazes  to  let  me  feel 

Most  like  a  dove  between  his  teeth. 

Next  following  came  this  postulate 

Of  peace,  my  one  way  of  freedom 

And  old  joy  and  new  gleedom. 

Which  I  must  reckon  with  for  bait : 

You  must  be  weaned — come  straight  to  that 

For  beacon  'one '  to  be  headed  at ! 

For  his  purposes,  in  his  view, 

He  had  had  quite  enough  of  you 

For  mixing  so  in  his  affairs 

Of  heart,  so  was  it  just  about 

The  vertex  of  his  curves  and  squares 

To  count  himself  in,  count  you  out. 

So  here  was  his  way  which  he  planned 

To  put  me  all  at  his  command : 

I  must  play  the  mother  to  you, 

Mother  in  every  kind  of  view. 

Play  my  part  and  play  it  true. 

Or  leave  my  bones  there  to  doze, 

Pasture  and  pastime  for  the  crows ! 


634  IVIoon  iMclds,  or  Man  the  Ood 

I  once  the  mother,  he  knew,  he  said, 

NataHe  must  count  for  dead, 

Since  this  much  he  surely  knew, 

Your  great  mother-love  in  you 

Would  come  first  under  heaven's  blue 

So  he  could  put  terms  to  you — you  would  agree 

To  think  no  more  of  your  Natalie 

So  soon  as  you  should  come  to  see 

There  was  no  choice,  nor  any  other 

Way  for  you  to  clasp  the  mother. 

Such  was  his  melee  of  trick  and  whim 

He  put  my  lip  to — I,  too,  no  choice 

But  wear  new  cheeks,  pipe  an  old  voice, 

Mother  to  you,  Natalie  to  him. 

Seeing  how,  by  such  means,  't  was  plain 

I  could  be  free  to  take  an  hour 

To  drop  to  you  my  word  or  flower, 

Hold  you  near  to  me  again. 

Enough  said — so,  cosmetic-cup, 

Paint-brush  he  took  to  smutch 

My  chin  to  get  the  wrinkle-touch, 

Whiten  the  red  down,  white  the  white  up, 

Enamel-plaster  each  new  place 

About  my  eyes  to  rob  my  face 

Of  my  young  look,  Natalie-smile, 

Chalk  my  chin,  unyouth  my  brow 

The  way  the  very  devil  knows  how 

By  sorrow-colors  of  bile  and  chyle. 

Two  slaps  of  mucilage  to  the  task 

Of  holding  the  pine-marten  mask 

Across  each  shoulder  of  each  cheek 

So  not  an  eye  could  chance  to  speak, 

Till  his  art-eyed  iconoclasty 

Came  to  outrival  meloplasty 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  635 

To  grow  wrinkles  so  each  yellow  fold 

Should  match  his  purpose,  make  me  old. 

At  last  you  came,  and  soon  I  knew 

I  was  under  the  roof  of  blue 

For  freedom  to  give  my  soul  to  you. 

Why  then,  you  will  want  to  know, 

Did  I  not  speak  and  have  it  so? 

Were  you  put  once,  in  your  days. 

Where,  in  a  case  of  life  and  death, 

You  had  no  voice,  not  a  bubble's  breath. 

But  all  was  settled  for  you  by  ways 

Which  soul  knows  best,  you  know  least 

As  any  stomachy  squash-beetle  priest, 

So  you  could  not  perform  otherwise 

Against  the  heaven's  eternal  eyes 

Than  swallow  its  verdict  of  pain  and  prize? 

Well,  there  you  have  it — there  was  I 

To  flutter  between  earth  and  sky 

Much  as  the  blunder-butterfly — 

This  my  claim  to  be  forgiven: 

I  chose  yonder  spotted  heaven. 

Which  was  your  love  you  had  for  her 

Whom  you  saw  never  in  life  before, 

Whom  I  knew  you  to  so  prefer 

To  Natalie,  over  and  overmore. 

Seeing  I  played  both  parts,  so  knew 

Both  loves,  could  pick  between  the  two. 

Do  I  not  know  those  queen-bee  days 

We  took  to  humming  at  citron-time 

In  and  out  among  the  bays 

To  get  an  ear  to  the  cattle-chime 

Or  reed-birds  at  their  whistling  rhyme? — 

In  my  field-book,  between  the  leaves 

Where  life,  dies  while  spirit  weaves, 


636  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

You  will  find  my  apple-flowers 

You  brought  me  once  between  the  showers, 

Locked  there  for  one  love,  which  was  ours — 

Or  do  I  not  catch  your  song 

Which  struck  the  hills  like  an  eagle-gong 

To  fetch  my  heart  up  clear  and  strong 

To  bell-echo  back  to  you  to  tell 

Through  night-watches  how  all  is  well? 

Then  the  touch  of  earth — that  sense 

Which  never  once  made  one  pretence 

To  open  a  secret,  tell  one  thought 

Which  was  loftily  spirit-wrought. 

Albeit  you  said  I  wore  such  charms 

Of  loveliness,  wine-eyed  swooning, 

Cheek  to  chase  cheek,  honey-mooning. 

Held  a  whole  Happy  Land  in  arms — 

Then  I  came  old,  contrived  to  smother 

Breath  of  my  youth,  wipe  off  the  stain 

Passion  dabs  in  each  cheek  for  vain. 

Took  all  sorts  of  trick  and  bother 

To  look  pallored,  to  play  my  role 

Of  over-sweet  gentle  mother-soul 

Which  puts  nor  praise  up  nor  blame 

But  love  only,  always  the  same 

Fine  kindliness  which  takes  no  part 

Of  life  for  herself,  only  for  you. 

To  be  that  womanful  and  true 

To  her  shallow  cheek,  deep-down  heart. 

As  holds  men  fastened  and  vastened  too — 

Then  was  it  there  I  came  to  see 

What  this  mother-rdle  meant  for  me: 

Once  I  got  the  arm  of  the  son 

About  me  I  could  not  once  play 

One  word  to  bid  you  take  it  away. 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  637 

We  two  now  so  completely  one 

To  the  white  end  of  what  may  flower 

In  mortals  in  one  spirit-hour, 

That  to  have  snapped  such  chain  in  two 

Had  broken  your  idol,  mine  too, 

Since  I  for  mother,  you  for  son, 

The  reign  of  true  love  once  begun, 

I  could  see  your  other  love 

Was  parroty,  so  kept  an  eye  out 

For  fear  forever  it  might  die  out, 

Just  passing  passion,  never  enough. 

One  love  blossoms  out  of  earth. 

Good  for  only  what  it  is  worth; 

The  other,  such  deep  lasting  other 

Love  you  nourish  for  the  mother 

Held  in  it  never  claim  to  worth 

For  anything  to  be  got  from  earth, 

Never  took  one  look  to  spy 

Amethyst  in  the  morning  eye. 

To  see  if  spring  once  left  its  coat 

Of  lily-leaf  in  the  underthroat, 

Never  would  have  twist  or  kinkle 

Different  from  each  blessed  wrinkle 

Which  wrote  of  heartache  and  care. 

Of  all  her  love  of  you  which  was  there 

Forever,  and  so  marvellous  fair. 

One  love  leads  down  to  your  world 

Whose  cheek  is  sunrise,  mouth  pearled, 

Tresses  pretty  morning-purled 

About  the  eye  which  shoots  desire 

So  I  see  back  of  it  the  fire 

Burns  down  and  out,  not  up  and  higher, 

While  your  fine  other  love  ascends 

Where  sovil  starts  and  this  world  ends. 


638  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Neither  eye  nor  lip  nor  cheek 

To  win  you,  nor  way  to  speak 

Half  the  half  part  there  is  of  it, 

So  much  you  cling  to  it  and  love  it, 

The  while  you  may  not  dream  to  know 

How  it  beckons  to  win  you  so 

The  while  you  may  not  touch  nor  near  it. 

Dome-deep  dominion  of  the  spirit. 

So  you  loved  me  when  you  took 

Me  for  the  mother,  not  the  lover, 

With  not  one  brilliant  lover-look 

Nor  brow  of  dreams  to  float  above  her, 

All  things  for  her,  no  thought  pelfish 

Nor  little  wish  a  little  selfish 

Till  through  it  I  could  clearly  see 

How  love  was,  how  it  could  be 

Beyond  purpose,  to  have  no  end 

In  sight  aloof  and  aside 

From  just  the  perfect  spirit-bride 

To  selflessness,  heart-bonded  friend. 

Of  love  I  must  have  the  best. 

Nor  care  I  how  your  world  thinks 

The  other  way  is  manifest 

Of  purpose  to  link  those  links 

Which  go  to  string  the  endless  chain 

Which  turns  the  round  world  'round  again 

Seeing,  as  I  see,  all  worst 

Means  best  at  last  if  I  seize  chance 

To  trick  or  conquer  circumstance, 

So  do  my  most  for  slake  of  thirst, 

For  betterment,  or  count  life  curst, 

The  spirit-last  of  me  comes  first. 

There  is  why  I  kept  me  the  mother 

To  you,  while  now  that  I  know 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  639 

How  almightily  truth  is  so, 

I  tell  you,  now  my  day  is  done 

And  past,  and  now  you  find  me  gone, 

There  comes  no  love  to  us  under  the  sun 

Bright  Heaven  looks  down  so  smiling  on." 

XXIX 

Her  letter — there  now  was  why 

She  rather  would  take  her  way  to  die 

And  not  one  word  to  me  nor  sign 

Of  who  she  was,  so  she  could  be 

So  whole-soulfully  wholly  mine 

As  to  fill  her  heart  too,  she  to  see 

I  forgot  there  was  any  Natalie. 

Love  only — not  once  one  thought 

Of  what  was  being  lost,  what  not — 

Love,  the  superlative  best 

Last  love,  above  all  the  rest, 

And  I  have  this  high  prosperous  truth, 

The  very  root  of  the  matter,  forsooth: 

Think  how  your  mortal  best  you  do 

For  love  of  what  is  highest  true 

May  not  one  gulden  profit  you ! 

Think  again  how  the  best  that  is 

In  life  you  fear  to  lose  or  miss 

May  put  you  wrong,  at  last,  like  this: 

Scarce  comes  aught  you  think  to  do 

In  a  day's  round  just  to  profit  you 

But  it  were  nobler  not  to  do ! 

Will  I  pick  my  ballad-chat 

To  pieces  just  to  try  his  fat; 

Spit  him  through  by  chop-house  art, 

If  once  I  hearken  to  my  heart? 


640  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Who  could  bring  him  once  to  carve 

His  fortune  by  his  genius-thought 

To  see  one  other  brother  starve 

Who  has  not  the  like  master  forte, 

If  he  will  join  him,  cheek  by  jole, 

Stop  to  think  how,  on  the  whole, 

Things  arc  all  different  in  the  soul? 

There  's  age  to  tell  too  of  such  truth : 

Age  makes  another  kind  of  youth, 

A  new  beginning  of  all  other 

Than  pill-bugs  in  a  pot  of  bother, 

For  here  is  one  fact  about  age: 

There  it  lies  on  the  Finis-page, 

Far  as  gormandy  counts  at  least. 

Shows  never  purpose,  looks  not  before 

For  handful  of  power  to  gather  more, 

Shuns  the  old  humdrum  of  drink  and  feast, 

Yet  there  it  goes  to  the  fag-end  stitch 

Of  love  which  is  deep  and  true  and  rich, 

Like  a  stream,  after  dark,  will  cool  and  creep 

So  softly  I  think  it  dead  asleep, 

Yet  holds  all  the  stars  there,  down  deep. 

What  'though  I  put  me  all  day  long 

At  music  to  bell-bellow  song 

If  the  key-pitch  in  it  jingle  wrong? 

Smash  your  way  by  shoulder-strife, 

Crush  to  conquer,  clap  hands  to  know 

How  everywhere  life  lives  on  life, 

Yet  who  is  there  lives  and  loves  it  so? 

Take  the  round  world's  tommy  stir-muss, 

What  more  is  there  of  soulful  purpose 

Than  the  hungry  snufBe  of  a  porpoise? 

Yet  is  it  life,  while  men  must  live. 

So  they  think,  to  have  their  day 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  641 

Like  dogs,  an  hour  to  tooth  and  slay 
For  power  to  take,  nor  power  to  give 
The  best  is  theirs,  to  drop  one  word 
Which  after  them  shall  be  always  heard 
For  soulfulness  and  heartfulness  and  fair, 
Chime-song  in  the  sunset  air. 
Sure  is  there  in  man  what  keeps 
Hand  uppermost  nor  drops  nor  sleeps, 
But  puts  upward,  keeps  the  eye  ever 
Keen  to  some  new  wheresoever 
Of  other  mightiness  and  loveliness 
Than  he  gets  in  this  Moon-hoveliness, 
For  mark  how  now  that  I  have  shown 
Man  has  manned  himself,  has  grown 
To  see  in  him  a  new  kind  of  elf 
All  different  from  the  other  self 
He  knows  of,  which  once  he  was, 
Pipe  for  the  trumpet-blast  of  wars' 
Cruel  slaughter  for  cruel  cause 
So  he  should  come  to  fix  his  jaws 
On  power,  wealth,  wallowing 
To  dream  his  dream  of  swallowing, 
Since  now  is  seen  that  there  is  of  him 
This  new  self  which  comes  above  him 
To  outface  fashion,  to  ruin  custom. 
Get  a  fairer  cassock  and  lustrum. 
For  see  now  how  I  look  to  pause. 
Startle  at  what  the  world  once  was 
Or  now  is — at  what  I  must  do 
To  live  in  it,  be  part  of  it  too: 
Take  the  thing  I  call  success. 
Which  is  life's  life,  nor  more  nor  less, 
I  compass  by  my  mightiness. 
While  to  think  my  brother  must  part 


642  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

With  most  of  it,  who  has  not  my  art 
To  conquer,  will  hurt  my  heart, 
To  show  there  's  that  in  me  will  rise 
King-wing  manner  just  as  flies 
A  blossom's  breath  toward  the  skies. 
She  took  her  one  way  to  love, 
So  far  from  her  world  and  above 
As  to  challenge  me  to  discover 
Any  love  could  come  above  her 
For  such  high-hearted  constant  lover 
As  to  lay  her  down  and  to  die 
Nor  tell  me  once  of  how  or  why 
She  made  her  finest  choice  to  lay 
Path  to  my  soul  by  the  mother-way 
Which  saw  no  gain  in  it  to  her 
Which  men  call  gain  and  so  prefer, 
But  love  only,  such  kind  of  love 
As  comes  to  us  all  over  and  above 
All  else,  nor  cares  for  any  measure 
Of  life  by  power,  hope,  pleasure. 
Soul-conscious  of  what  is  enough, 
The  greatness  of  such  selfless  love 
As  never  ever  will  count  the  cost 
Of  what  is  missed  in  the  world  or  lost. 

XXX 

From  my  uncle  I  learned  the  Value  of  Right ; 
From  my  Natalie  I  learned  the  love  of  it ; 
The  two  together  make  human  Might, 
Yet  your  world  gets  scarce  a  snuff  of  it ! 
One  thing  more  we  Moon-men  were  taught, 
One  truth  you  earth-people  never  knew. 
The  Value  of  Man,  how  he  may  be  wrought 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  643 

In  all  colors,  out  to  red  and  blue, 

By  being  free  to  throw  his  fin 

Of  orange,  of  enamel  pink. 

Take  his  own  way  to  swim  and  blink, 

Nor  try  to  swallow  your  azulin, 

Play  your  poltroon  altar-kink. 

The  Value  of  Man — there  's  one  trick 

Would  baffle  all  arithmetic! 

To  lop  him,  make  him  your  like. 

Head-end  thin  as  a  marline-spike, 

Big  enough,  by  dodging  self  and  sin, 

For  you  to  mix  in  your  nipperkin 

To  swallow;  next  you  snuff  and  smile 

Like  a  bullbeggar,  dominie  style. 

To  see  him  try  to  stretch  and  skew 

To  catch  a  breath  in  your  ugly  spew 

Of  pickle-trick  magic  to  tell 

What  narrow  shave  'twixt  heaven  and  hell 

Is  his,  and  but  for  you 

God  knows  what  his  small  soul  would  do — 

And  there  's  your  noodle-noddle  plan 

To  split  his  pluck  like  an  ortolan, 

Meek  little  face-up  fearful  man! 

Moon-men  know  not  such  your  way 

To  make  a  man  over,  have  him  do. 

Think,  slink,  wriggle,  spit  like  you, 

Seeing,  and  we  're  bound  to  say, 

Man  has  in  him  so  to  grow 

More  than  he  could  guess  to  know 

Once  you  give  him  one  whole  chance 

Himself  to  conquer  circumstance 

His  way,  not  yours,  his  thinking, 

Not  your  stuffy  stickleback-blinking. 

That  he  may,  shoulders  up,  full  might. 


644  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

Fetch  his  own  crown-kingdom-height. 

Man,  to  be  man,  shall  be  himself, 

Neither  Ghibclin  nor  Guelf, 

The  whole  of  him,  not  part  of  him. 

Head  and  soul  and  pluck  and  heart  of  him 

For  all  he  is  as  God  made  him, 

Nor  your  black  wing  to  ovcrshade  him. 

This  much  Moon-men  knew  in  their  day, 

That  man,  to  play  color,  shall  have  free  play 

To  strike  at  random,  alwa^^s  his  way 

If  he  would  fetch  his  foremost  display. 

Many-sided,  this  soul  of  man. 

And  angled,  on  the  diamond-plan, 

Fireful  too,  meant  to  spit  forth 

One  stripe  south,  another  stripe  north, 

So  he  may  swing  him  free  to  dangle 

His  Nile-blue,  his  ox-blood  spangle. 

You  not  to  wear  him  in  your  bosom 

For  fast,  like  an  eye,  to  look  your  way 

Without  a  wink,  always  to  play 

One  color  only  and  that  you-some. 

You  of  earth  keep  your  one  thinking : 

Eye-shut  is  wiser  than  eye-winking, 

So,  not  to  man-alive,  but  instead 

You  drop  on  all  fours  to  the  dead. 

And  all  for  this,  that  they  once  knew 

Enough  to  do  their  own  thinking  through 

To  the  red  end,  and  no  thanks  to  you ! 

Each  man  makes  himself  apart, 

Like  no  other,  as  one  summer's  art 

Will  fork  so  many  pretty  leaves 

Of  lemony  toad-flax  to  a  stem. 

One  cut  of  armor  for  all  of  them. 

While,  lo,  what  different  pauldrons  and  greaves! 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  645 

Man  has  of  him,  each  one,  that  what 

Strikes  higher  than  one  mould  of  thought, 

To  wit,  his  true  self,  to  be  brought  out 

Straight  in  spite  of  your  hollow  flout — 

Not  always  shall  men  tie  to  trees, 

Mock-bird  style,  to  catch  the  wheeze 

Of  Sappho  or  Simonides. 

Man  there  in  your  world  goes  yearning 

To  learn,  not  himself,  but  to  learn  learning, 

Nor  thinks  ever  how,  by  such  his  plan, 

His  learning  is  only  another  man 

Made  manifest  for  what  he  was. 

More  than  a  copy-croak  of  daws 

Or  tidif  swung  by  an  origan. 

Truth  is,  your  whole  planet-schooling 

Makes  one  kind  of  April-fooling 

To  decoy  men,  tempt  each  astray, 

Each  from  himself  to  catch  a  lay 

Of  one  chuckling  Aristophanes; 

As  if  first  purpose  were  to  please 

The  soul  of  Anaxandrides, 

Bring  him  out  in  place  of  bringing 

You  out  and  your  soul  of  singing ! 

I  do  well  to  see  each  time 

I  pull  bell-rope  which  shall  chime 

Me,  not  the  other  one  there 

Thumbing  his  own  carillon-air. 

Not  what  you  thought,  not  what  he  taught, 

Nor  what  the  whole  creation  wrought 

Makes  matters  overmost  for  me, 

But  what  this  "soul-self  I"  shall  be, 

Do,  think,  smash,  or  button  into 

More  than  your  mere  mezzotinto, 

After  knowing,  as  I  know,  I  'm  soul 


646  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

To  compass  and  command  the  whole 

Of  purposey  power  to  become 

Somewhat  other  than  your  drum 

You  thrash  at,  whack  by  whack, 

To  get  your  cudgel-music  back ! 

We  Moon-men  once  found  way  to  be 

What  there  is  in  us  soulfully 

Or  brainfully  or  each  other  way 

To  come  above  this  crust  of  clay 

To  make  the  last  royalest  most, 

Each  one  his  own  holy  ghost, 

To  be  all  what  of  him  to  span 

His  one  round  dominion  plan 

Of  man  the  God,  which  is  man  the  man. 

I  turned  the  glass- piece  left,  so  I  read: 
Nothing  is  there,  since  glass  is  dead, 
While  the  light  is  born  is  alive  and  red. 

XXXI 

Alone !  oh,  to  be  alone ! 

Stuck  like  a  fly  in  a  globe 

Trying,  I  would  think,  to  probe 

New  Chameleon  or  Draco-zone, 

For  what  purpose  I  'm  left  to  guess 

And  make  the  best  of  loneliness, 

Wits  up  to  me,  'though,  to  guess 

There  's  value  in  just  that  loneliness ! 

Oh,  to  be  alone — not  in  one  world  only, 

But  in  the  galaxy-sweep  of  worlds 

Through  which  soul  grieves  and  grows  and  pearls. 

And  not  a  voice,  no  worm  that  curls. 

Nothing  that  lives,  just  I  only 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  647 

To  look  out  at  the  polyglot  sky 

To  outface  it  and  outsoul  it  and  die 

The  God's  death,  for  the  man  of  me, 

No  space  mighty  as  the  span  of  me, 

I  to  the  rescue  of  me  only 

By  no  Moon-shine  Heaven  of  Hope, 

No  atom  to  gain,  none  to  lose. 

No  death  to  dodge,  no  life  to  cruise. 

Save  that  my  power  in  me  will  grope 

Pilot-like  to  such  vast  scope 

Of  mightier  growth,  spirit-force 

Which,  'spite  of  worlds,  will  keep  its  course 

To  Beauty,  which  is  truth  and  might. 

To  tuck  sparks  in  all  kinds  of  night — 

To  be  alone  is  to  be  never  lonely. 

Be  you  you,  your  own  self  only. 

My  Natalie-mother — I  laid  you  where 

Violets  fill  to  choke  with  dew 

And  sweet  and  sky,  like  the  soul  in  you — 

By  the  castle- wall  I  laid  you  there. 

Just  underneath  our  galba-tree 

Where  I  first  brought  you  bryony. 

Morning  gentianella  flowers. 

Where  you  first  caught  the  paeany 

Fine  flood-throat  of  a  veery 

Which  shook  the  air  into  morning  showers 

Of  song  of  which  you  shall  never  weary 

And  he  drop  them  to  you,  o'er  and  o'er, 

Till  the  mountains  be  no  more! 

So  was  I  stripped — such  a  stripping, 

As  if  all  powers  against  mc  were  bent 

On  crushing  purpose  all  by  ripping 

Moon-reality  out  of  me — what  meant 

Else  the  laugh  in  it  now  I  was  given 


648  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

A  world  to  myself  without  the  power 

To  pluck  one  sempcrvivum  flower, 

Get  an  after-whiff  of  it  even, 

Nor  power  to  take  to  me  nor  to  ply 

An  inch  of  Moon,  snapdragon-clad. 

To  joy  me,  to  half  make  me  glad, 

More  than  a  miller  may  fret  his  sky? 

Am  I  done  then — is  that  about  all 

There  is  of  the  thing  when  I  am  done, 

My  fly-bobbing  in  a  day's  sun. 

The  upshot  of  it  so  poor,  so  small 

As  to  make  my  manfulness  of  soul 

Into  color,  fancy,  fire,  power. 

To  reach  up  like  one  gillyflower 

Only  to  topple  in  the  end,  the  whole 

Like  lichen  reaches  to  sip,  then  squirms 

His  low  bow  to  his  bench  of  worms? 

Be  it  so,  or  be  it  so 

It  is  not  meant  for  me  to  know, 

Either  way,  yet  I  reckon  not 

What  that  counts  in  my  bench  of  thought 

And  I  the  very  soul  which  sees, 

Moulds  and  holds  what  Beauty  is 

From  bell-moth  up  to  pyramis 

Of  suns — I  the  soul  which  trees 

Each  spark,  each  cloud-chocolate  stripe 

To  keep  them  till  they  fully  ripe — 

I  the  man  to  be  awarded 

Just  my  soul  and  nought  beside, 

Neither  pay  nor  Whitsuntide, 

Not  man-mastered  nor  God-lorded, 

But  I,  just  I  for  what  I  'm  worth 

To  conquer  this  kingdom  of  an  earth 

Of  soul-shock,  which  is  life  and  death 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  649 

And  power  to  beat  the  mother-breath 
Clean  out  of  me  as  I  pant 
For  purpose  to  lord  it  up  the  slant — 
While  so  what  of  it  more  than  this, 
That  I  know  who  the  master  is 
Of  me,  of  my  dominion-soul 
Which  masters  to  complete  the  whole 
Of  what  is  meant  I  shall  be  and  do — 
My  thumb-snap  to  Peter  and  Paul  and  you ! 
Here  now  am  I  in  this  Moon  alone, 
All  others  gone,  and  she  too  gone. 
Her  circum-soular  arm  withdrawn — 
You  know  how  such  an  arm  will  leave 
Dark  only  of  the  empty  sleeve — 
A  world  tumbled  into  my  lap 
Which  I  may  neither  drop  nor  tap 
Nor  play  with  to  call  my  own 
'Though  lord  of  it  all — nought  is  yours 
If  there  be  in  the  world  no  other 
Soul  you  look  there  to  for  brother 
Whom  comparison  praises,  scores — 
There  's  no  self  of  me — self  is  left  out 
If  there  be  no  one  else  about 
In  the  world  for  mirror  in  whom  you 
Discover  yourself  by  brothering  to — 
If  no  self  to  me,  so  no  selfishness. 
Not  the  tiny  ounce  of  pelfishness, 
Seeing  all  there  is  is  mine. 
Yet  all  not  worth  one  kitten-whine — 
I  there  for  mastery  to  learn  this : 
Nothing  goes  in  God's  universe 
Of  kingliness  which  ends  in  curse, 
Nor  matters  it  what  the  seeming  is. 
You  would  think,  just  to  see  me  now 


650  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

I  stand  here  on  this  Moon-beam  brow 
Without  one  purpose  life  could  give 
Or  theme  of  glory  in  it  now, 
That  at  last  is  a  last  end  come, 
Since  now  this  life  of  mine  has  done 
Its  best  for  me  all  under  the  sun, 
Nought  now  where  so  much  begun, 
Yet  am  I  not  here  as  before, 
Body  less,  but  spirit  more, 
One  great  map  of  Moon  and  all 
My  own,  and  yet  so  piping  small 
There  comes  to  me  this :  I  've  outgrown  it 
Now  I  've  come  to  clutch  and  own  it, 
Have  grown  to  this  much  more  to  see 
How  little  the  gist  of  it  must  be 
If  measured  by  the  soul  in  me? 
There  was  my  life  of  righteousness, 
Your  only  kind  of  mighteousness 
Which  stands  alone,  needs  no  God 
To  pucker  to  to  try  to  wheedle 
Into  minding  your  tom-tweedle 
To  chasse  to  your  parrot-nod. 
But  alone  just,  to  make  my  fight 
Against  such  supreme  cosmos-might 
As  cowed  man  ever,  made  him  blunder 
Into  looking  up,  knuckling  under, 
Held  him  to  mouth-open  wonder 
At  what  he  was,  at  how  he  was, 
Kept  him  picking  for  a  cause, 
While  all  his  long  complaining  days 
Never  side-look  from  him  to  gaze 
To  see  how  one  vast  universe-plan 
Means  only  to  mould  the  soul  of  a  man. 
So,  now,  having  once  come  to  this 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  651 

That  my  spirit  makes  all  there  is 

Worth  coming  to,  next  then  I  see 

That  to  be  perfect  I  shall  be  free, 

Self -dependant,  myself  wholly, 

Not  a  wink  of  your  melancholy 

Beggary  or  your  weak  whining 

Which  brings  men  to  their  merest  pining 

After  this  or  other  than  just  the  soul 

And  soul  of  them  which  is  the  whole 

Of  Beauty,  body  moulding  it 

Like  a  pot,  death  unfolding  it. 

Put  me  once  self- dependant  free, 

You  may  put  all  burden  on  me 

To  find  me  ripe  for  fighting  it, 

— Value  of  wrong  comes  of  righting  it — 

That  way  is  it  the  best  of  me 

Blossoms  not  if  the  rest  of  me 

Be  put  under  foot,  hard  held  down, 

'Though  the  weight  of  it  be  a  crown. 

More  than  peach-leaf  broads  an  inch 

If  prisoned  in  my  finger-pinch. 

Made  is  this  world  for  man 

For  him  to  do  what  most  he  can 

To  outgrow  it,  to  come  above  it, 

Wean  him  to  not  over-love  it, 

Seeing  my  Moon  is  one  rounded  egg 

I  chafe  in  just  to  pick  and  peg 

The  shell  off  so  to  have  my  run 

In  dew-grass  which  sprinkles  sun 

Of  other  than  the  amber-type 

Of  moss-pink,  thistle-stripe, 

So  soul  may  flower  and  tower  and  ripe. 

Make  for  whatever  end  you  see 

To  come  to  for  the  Heaven  in  fee, 


652  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

There  's  other  nobler  yet  to  be! 

Moon-men  love  God — but  there  enough 

Of  worship,  their  heart  of  love — 

For  right  there,  mark  you,  they  stop, 

Nor  whisper  more  to  the  naked  top, 

While  you  court  God  in  his  universe 

All  to  take  him  for  better,  for  worse, 

While  by  so  much  as  you  take  to  you 

One  thought  of  him  to  twist  askew 

One  atom  of  the  man  in  you 

You  make  of  him  canker-worm  and  curse. 

Given  the  whole  Hell  that  could  be  given 

For  you  to  swallow  or  think  of  even. 

Who  would  be  Jesused  into  Heaven, 

Or  Petered  out  of  it,  or  Pauled 

Into  power,  he  greatened  and  you  smalled, 

Till  just  about  the  consummate  all 

Left  of  you  is  the  master — Paul? 

So  your  Templedom  (barring  just  love. 

Which  makes  temple  and  worship  enough,) 

Makes  for  the  littlement  of  man. 

Not  the  largement  of  him — your  trick 

To  trim  him  to  your  closet-plan 

Of  limits  to  his  bailiwick 

To  bring  him  to  his  meeks  and  knees 

To  make  him  putty-brute  just  to  please 

God,  all  by  his  shuffling  under — 

Man  made  just  to  gape  and  wonder 

And  not  know,  never  to  force 

His  way  against  worlds,  against  Gods 

By  one  sublimest  Beauty-course 

Which  circles  above  odds  and  sods 

Where  zenith  and  zenith  shall  fall, 

And  he  there  master  of  it  all ! 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  653 

Mischance,  each  hard  sorrow-duty, 

Day-dark  of  cuff  and  buffet, 

Make  greatness,  make  love  to  love  it, 

Make  opportunity  which  is  great, 

Make  my  garden-wall  where  Beauty 

Climbs,  'though  climbing  sun  be  late. 

Where  star-flowers  finger  to  rise 

To  wheel  their  sweetness  in  the  skies. 

Am  I  to  be  downed,  I  here  alone, 

Or  must  I  get  to  my  knees  to  know 

What  means  it,  why  God  made  me  so. 

Never  to  come  to  my  single  throne 

Of  spiritous  purpose,  mastrous  endeavor 

To  soul  me  to  that  kingdom-height 

Which  out-riots  wrong,  out-mighties  might 

To  stand  alone,  which  wins  ever, 

I  for  more  than  bunch  of  spoons 

To  dip  from  your  dish,  face  alabastered 

To  your  cut  to  be  Moon-mastered 

So  never  to  be  master  of  Moons? 

Here  's  plain  truth:  On  the  spirit-plan 

Man  gets  to  be  God  by  being  man, 

Not  putty-work,  nor  face  of  glass 

To  catch  your  image  as  you  pass, 

As  mark  now  how  I  once  am  clear 

And  clean  of  what  men  prize  in  life. 

Gold,  power,  or  hope,  or  fear 

Or  any  coroneted  career 

Which  follows  easiness,  dodges  strife. 

Nought  left  me  out  of  every  whole 

Vast  Moon-gut  save  my  dominant  soul 

Which  kept  pace  and  beyond,  so  grew 

As  all  around  me  stood  to  fall 

Till  I  could  sense  it  so  I  knew 


654  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

How  pit-sunk,  how  lousy  small 

The  gainway  is,  from  bib  to  pall, 

My  soul  sole  sovereign  of  it  all 

And  more,  power  to  reach  beyond 

What  men  count  rich  in  life,  hold  fond, 

To  force  forward  to  one  other  day 

Of  new  smilax,  of  different  sun, 

Where  soul  which  is  moulded  out  of  clay 

May  strike  out  loose  to  have  one  run 

In  Beauty,  which  man  scarce  feels. 

So  much  is  he  crop  and  jaws  and  heels. 

This  I  know  by  seeing  how  all 

I  thought  once  great  rounds  up  so  small 

As  to  leave  me  only  this  my  soul 

Which  grew,  while  all  around  me  dwindled 

Until  it  seemed  my  soul  was  swindled, 

But  only  as  in  an  air-ship  I  roll 

Away  from  earth,  begin  to  rise. 

Do  fields  small  down  as  I  top  the  skies. 

Power  of  virtue,  forceful  duty 

Make  for  power  of  soul,  which  is  Beauty, 

The  thing  each  cosmos  marshals  fight 

To  untangle  so  to  bring  to  light — 

I  the  man  of  not  a  master. 

Whether  God  or  Devil,  to  be  put 

Image-like,  stuck  in  your  plaster. 

Nor  out  of  sight,  nor  under  foot, 

Nor  face-up,  nor  knee-down. 

Nor  smirk- wise,  nor  trained  to  beg. 

Parrot  tied  to  your  closet-peg. 

Nor  to  little  me  by  your  thinking 

Gain  's  to  be  gained  by  any  shrinking — 

I  the  man  of  not  a  master. 

Whether  God  or  Paul  or  Pastor, 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  655 

But  just  my  integral  master-soul 

To  strike  for  Beauty,  which  is  the  whole 

Of  holiness  and  all  conscious  power 

To  widen  and  sweeten  and  pinken, 

Which  nests  in  the  lapel  of  each  flower, 

Spirit  to  spread  wing  to  so  rise 

As  to  outmatch  worlds,  outkingdom  skies 

By  that  other  Beauty  I  may  not  see 

Since  it  now  makes  the  whole  of  me, 

Since  now  it  is  the  soul  of  me 

I  fight  for,  I  now  to  be  free 

To  splash  my  streak  of  beryl-blue, 

Never  nightshade  from  you  or  you, 

I  to  be  free  and  free  and  free 

To  soul  my  soul,  to  self  my  so\il 

Long  as  the  Moons  about  me  bowl, 

Or  perish  the  heart  and  whole  of  me! — 

I  the  man  of  not  a  master. 

Since,  proof  against  profit,  disaster, 

I  strike  for  Beauty  nor  I  care 

What  else  you  knick-knack,  you  that  bubble 

To  balance  between  joy  and  trouble — 

I  strike  for  Beauty,  all  that  is  fair, 

For,  look  about  me  everywhere. 

What  else  find  I  save  Beauty  there, 

Beauty  to  grow  by,  to  grow  to, 

Beauty  deep  in  the  soul  of  you. 

Beauty  when  a  lapwing  drew 

His  curve  of  fly-green,  copper,  blue. 

As  if  to  rainbow  the  heart  of  you 

In  his  sky  of  the  copper  fly-green  hue — 

Beauty  when  a  star  plays  hide 

By  dodging  just  the  other  side 

Of  a  cloud  so  to  get  me  looking 


656  Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God 

To  find  it  in  a  wider  girth 
Than  circum-bowls  this  guinea-earth 
I  tie  to  for  nooks  and  nooking — 
Beauty  also  when  any  loss  is 
To  you,  when  forty  foulest  crosses 
To  thwart  you  multiply,  so  by  might 
Of  virtue,  of  pre-eminent  Right, 
Patience,  endurance-power, 
You  catch  the  courage  of  a  flower 
To  ride  storms  out,  to  clinch  and  fight- 
Beauty  when  you  know  you  stand 
Alone  in  the  universal  land 
Of  star- space,  you  just,  wholly  you, 
Not  another  to  knuckle  to,        , 
Whether  God,  man,  spink,  or  gnu, 
You  there  for  your  unique  spirit 
And  not  a  master  to  come  near  it. 
Not  a  stitch  in  a  chasuble-hem, 
But  sun-like  among  suns  of  sheen 
Which  fall  not  since  they  never  lean. 
You  free  as  they  for  one  of  them — 
Beauty  when  you  fear  not  to  live, 
Beauty  when  you  fear  not  to  die. 
To  have  not  a  purpose  save  to  give 
The  best  you  have,  nor  query  why 
Nor  for  what  reason  you  live  and  die 
But  Beauty,  which  is  the  whole  of  you, 
Beauty  which  is  the  soul  of  you. 
Beauty  which  blocks  all  questions  too, 
Beauty,  neither  more  nor  less. 
Beauty  its  own  sole  governess, 
Whether  flesh-pink,  fustic,  blue. 
Not  to  be  once  dictated  to, 
Beauty  of  right  and  truth  in  you 


Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God  657 

To  conquer,  to  stand  you  through 

To  where,  by  sorrow  or  hard  duty. 

By  life,  if  bitter  blight  or  fruity. 

You  come  to  the  last  first  best  you  are, 

One  single  circumsolar  star, 

Part  of  all  vast  eternal  Beauty — 

So,  as  I  look  on  the  gold  blue  face 

Of  sky-fields  and  all  Mooning  place 

To  come  to  match  masters  to  try 

Which  is  master,  they  or  I, 

I  look  again  to  my  sunstone  to  see 

How  soul,  like  light,  will  penetrate  me 

To  take  shape  and  color  and  sweep 

Of  flight  into  one  unfathomed  deep 

Of  soul-shine,  and  I  put  it  there 

To  shapen,  and  so  true  and  fair 

For  my  shape,  my  color,  not  yours. 

Neither  God-lorded  nor  Paul- Petered 

Nor  saint-sanctioned  nor  creed-metered. 

To  glisten  on  new  other  shores, 

I  the  master  who  put  it  there 

For  my  shape,  my  color,  true  and  fair. 

Like  a  stripe  of  blue  forget-me-not 

To  linger  when  the  star-fields  are  forgot. 

I  turn  myself  to  another  view, 
I  let  spirit  splinter  through, 
I  get  more  than  pink  or  blue, 
I  get  soul,  which  is  endless  new. 
42 


NOT  YOUR  DOG! 

Not  your  dog,  but  mine! 
I  saw  you  double-cut  him  to  the  quick ; 
I  saw  him  take  your  brutal  kick 

Without  a  whine. 

Then,  that  look  to  me ! 
Those  large  eyefuls  which  could  not  flow 
Now  he  had  done  his  best  to  show 

Some  love  of  thee. 

Sorrow,  despair! 
Till,  next,  he  turned  such  handsome  face  to  me! 
What  God's  live  creatures  do  not  see 

What  love  they  share? 

Nothing  but  a  hound? 
But  true  as  love — gentle,  brave,  true. 
And  more  the  human  heart  than  you 

When  sought  and  found. 

How  he  looked  to  me 
To  beg  me  by  those  eyes  to  play  him  friend, 
To  crush  the  larger  dog  to  end 

Life's  wretchery ! 

You  paid  gold  for  him! 
So  gold  makes  master  up  to  top 
By  titles  of  an  auction-shop, 

Pedlar's  whim! 
658 


Not  Your  Dog  !  659 


Your  claim  is  stuffed  and  blown! 
Your  dog  is  mine  for  this,  we  throb  as  one; 
Mine  till  cowards  fail  to  run 

And  love  has  flown. 

Now,  so,  take  my  word: 
With  God  there  goes  nor  dog  nor  worm  nor  man ; 
Soul  is  the  soul  on  Nature's  plan 

In  man  and  bird. 

Ever  gently  then! 
Who  knows  but  one  day  yet  may  wheel  around 
When,  more  than  ever  you  '11  be  hound, 

And  dogs  be  men? 


BROTHERS 

Two  graves  lay  low  in  a  swamp-lot  spot, 

Each  traveller  passed  and  noticed  them  not 

Now  that  the  place  had  been  most  forgot; 
A  single  slab,  which  was  ages  old, 

Stood  up  for  the  two  in  a  gown  of  mould, 

And  the  story  is  this  which  the  tablet  told : 

Two  boys  once  played  in  a  country  field 
As  you  and  I  in  our  day  have  played; 

Little  was  thought  of  the  harvest  yield. 

Life  in  the  scales  had  been  lightly  weighed. 

Only  a  thump  and  plunge  for  the  ring 

Of  their  wildest  shout  for  the  sport  of  the  thing. 

The  two  were  brothers — twins  at  that; 

Both  kept  one  way  of  coming  at 
The  thing  they  did  to  the  drop  of  a  hat ; 

Each  took  the  skin-deep  kind  of  bother 
Or  curlew-leap  of  joy  of  the  other 

To  match  him,  and  they  were  brother  and  brother. 

Years  went  by  till  they  grew  to  be  men; 

The  father  died  of  his  ripe  old  age; 
Conquering  custom  was  king  again 

As  now  they  came  to  their  heritage. 
Each  one  to  share  as  the  other  did. 

His  half,  for  so  they  inherited. 
660 


Brothers  66 1 

Pastures  were  few,  scarce  a  farm  in  all; 

One  garret  of  maize,  an  ox  in  stall, 
One  orchard  to  lend  a  hand  in  Fall, 

While  so  it  was  said,  for  so  men  thought. 
The  whole  of  it  might  have  been  sold  and  bought 

For  the  full  of  a  tinker's  guinea-pot. 

Next  to  divide  the  farm  was  a  trick 

Each  one  tried  and  the  thing  went  well ; 

Each  took  a  dash  at  arithmetic 

To  show  his  knowledge  of  link  and  ell. 

Till  down  to  a  hair  and  square  as  a  Quaker 
The  farm  was  divided,  acre  by  acre. 

Save  one  deep  well  at  the  cedar-swamp  lot 
Each  wrangled  for  and  neither  one  got. 

While  their  hearts  grew  cold  as  words  blew  hot  f 
Deep  was  the  well  and  the  spring  was  clear, 

The  prize  of  it  each  one  counted  dear 

Now  a  contest  was  on — and  the  rub  was  here: 

More  was  the  trick  than  either  one  knew 

Of  how  to  divide  a  well  in  two, 
A  claim  which  only  one  court  could  settle: 

Each  one  should  put  him  to  his  mettle 
By  elbow- force  of  iron  flank 

To  find  which  had  the  better  shank. 

Agreed  was  it  so  that  one  should  die — 

There  was  the  well  for  the  purpose  nigh 

As  this  plan  they  drew,  nor  ever  a  sigh : 

Both  men  must  clinch  to  wrestle  pell-mell 

Till  one  threw  the  other  into  the  well 

And  was  owner  by  force  of  his  hero-spell ! 


662  Brothers 

Sharp  at  a  word  they  were  tooth  and  heel, 
You  could  see  shots  of  fire  fly  out 

Of  the  eyes  of  each,  see  them  wheel  and  reel 
To  fling  each  other  like  bags  about, 

Now  at  the  hip  for  a  cunning  catch, 

Now  tooth  and  claw,  while  each  had  his  match 

To  tear  the  other  off  from  his  throat 

Where  each  made  fast  by  clutches,  smote, 

Like  a  wild  beast  in  a  pigeon-cote, 

At  the  pit's  edge  to  try  to  stumble 

His  brother  over  to  see  him  tumble 

Teeth  first — two  tigers  in  a  jumble, 

When,  at  the  well's  edge  where  they  struggled 
As  giants  might  have  threshed  and  juggled 

For  uppermost,  little  thinking 

Each  how  his  morning  star  was  sinking, 

Never  a  thought  of  the  wrong  of  it, 

Both  tumbled  headlong  into  the  pit. 

Such  a  grave  they  picked,  so  kind  folk  came, 
Covered  them  over  with  turf  and  blame 

And  this  tiny  slab  which  has  lost  the  name, 
Only  the  sorrow-story  has  kept. 

Where  many  a  good  heart  has  knelt  and  wept 

For  brothers  who  loved  so  and  hated  and  slept. 

There  they  lie  now,  poor  fellows — God  knows 
For  what  they  lie  there  under  the  snows. 

Lives  lost  and  sunk,  now  nothing  to  tell 

What  they  were,  but  just  this  slab  at  the  well 

And  two  small  overgrown  sunken  sods — 

Yet  they  were  brothers,  and  men  are  Gods! 


MAN  OR  SPIDER? 


There  's  a  spider  strikes  his  beak! 

One  blow  of  his  jaw-rammer, 

Of  his  claw-hammer, 

Means  death  to  the  weak ! 

Just  you  watch  him  slink. 

Beat  tracks  to  his  hole, 

Stopping  not  to  think, 

Showing  never  a  soul, 

Dodges  in  and  out, 

Venom  in  his  pout, 

Poison  in  his  snout! 

Take  him  at  his  best 

In  his  gun-barrel  nest, 
Targets  to  a  dot 
And  he  whistles  free 
As  a  rifle-shot 
To  let  slip  his  sting 
For  demony 
To  spHt  the  wing 
Of  a  silver  fly 
Dancing  to  sing, 
Dancing  to  die. 
663 


664  Man  or  Spider  ? 


Mind  his  web  of  glass 

In  pink  and  green 

Like  a  cuirass 

In  copper  sheen 

Of  a  morning  hour 

For  his  spread  of  power, 

One  wave  of  violet 

In  buff  and  jet, 

Or  pale  at  evening  spread 

For  a  shroud  instead 

To  cover  his  dead! 

What  a  master-stroke 
For  a  way  to  kill ! 
What  a  hand  to  choke 
In  the  throat  and  gill 
For  a  life  to  crush 
Into  lasting  hush 
For  blood  to  spill! 
Deceit  and  theft, 
Spy-bite  and  sting, 
And  nothing  is  left 
Of  the  sorrel  wing ! 

I  saw  him  lie 
At  his  hole  one  day 
Like  a  cannon-spy, 
Like  a  sword  at  play. 
Stab  the  Y-wing  moth 
In  his  velvet  cloth. 
Saw  him  duck  to  watch 
From  his  pistol-notch 
Just  to  feast  his  eye, 
Watch  the  Y-moth  die, 
Drink  his  sigh. 


Man  or  Spider  ?  665 

See,  he  hangs  his  net 
For  the  sun  to  touch 
Where  the  dew  has  set 
And  the  morning  such 
As  to  drop  each  stripe 
Of  geranium  ripe 
In  his  cunning  gripe, 
Or  star-balls  in  blue 
Out  of  fire  of  dew, 
His  heavenly  type 
Of  a  trap  for  you! 

Is  there  good  in  him, 

A  thought  to  care 

For  life  or  limb 

Of  a  fly  in  air? 

Is  there  soul  to  feel 

How  each  hellish  thrust 

Of  his  poison  heel 

Is  a  step  unjust, 

Is  a  crime  to  tell, 

A  sepulchre-spell, 

A  leap  of  hell? 

II 

A  girl  once  waited  in  your  garden-plot — 

You  know  how  she  loved  you  all  her  soul 

To  keep  you  for  her  only  thought. 
Her  avatar  and  the  whole 

Trophy  of  her  heart  each  day. 
As  true  women  do  their  way, 

Which  you  know  and  I  say ! 


666  Man  or  Spider  ? 

Her  kind  pale  face  how  it  looked  for  you 

By  one  bunch  of  swcct-rockct  just  as  white, 

Not  one  look  of  her  but  was  true 

As  stars  prick  through  the  blotted  light, 

While  there  she  stood  watching  for  you, 
For  her  one  man  strong  and  true. 

As  sweet  women  do. 

And  yet  her  spirit  has  told  her  what, 

A  thing  you  thought  she  never  could  know, 

Something  wrong  in  you  she  half  thought — 

But  she  would  not  think,  since  she  loved  you  so. 

Which  is  why  she  was  pale  that  day 
Her  sweet  trusting  anxious  way. 

Like  a  fawn  at  bay. 

Her  locket  coddled  your  face  inside. 

The  which  she  kept  in  her  inside  breast; 

Your  knot  of  oxeye,  moon-color  dyed, 
She  kept  because  you  liked  it  best. 

But  over  and  above  them  all 

She  harked  for  your  footstep  fall, 

Your  confident  call. 

And  what  have  you  now  to  say  to  you 

Who  brought  her  to  pain  of  heart  and  mind 

Just  for  your  whim  of  a  day  or  two, 

And  you  intended  to  leave  her  behind 

To  sorrow,  as  she  would  do. 
And  you  knew  it  too, 

For  love  of  you? 

There  was  that  last  evening  you  saw 

She  trusted  you  as  you  told  her  how 

She  was  all  you  were  living  for, 

And  you  gave  her  your  solemn-knotted  vow 


Man  or  Spider?  667 


Of  vast  allegiance  and  love 

By  the  sweet  Heaven  above 
For  solemn  enough. 

You  came  again  one  elegant  day, 

Brought  her  your  spike  of  dragon  flowers 

To  speak  for  you  with  their  mouth  of  May 

As  there  you  played  with  her  heart  for  hours! 

As  a  hawk  at  a  linnet  dips 

You  hovered  close  at  the  tips 

Of  her  coral  lips 

As  close  by  her  yucca  flowers  she  stood, 

Their  twenty  swords  drawn  as  if  to  say: 

We  are  not  here  to  be  tricked  and  shooed, 
Hands  off,  or  you  end  your  day! 

How  could  you  steel  you  to  take 
Her  lips  and  leave  the  ache 

Your  kiss  would  wake? 

Another  afternoon,  just  ago, 

She  stooped  to  pick,  where  she  saw  you  pass, 
Ground-flowers  made  of  mock-orange  glow 

Because  your  shadow  touched  them  in  the  grass ; 
Was  it  that  she  half  way  knew 

Your  shadow  was  the  true 
Best  part  of  you? 

Not  so!     She  would  not  let  herself  think 

You  were  aught  else  than  her  perfect  man, 

As  if  truth  were  meant  to  choke  and  sink 
Ere  love  shall  climb  his  meridian ! 

How  she  trusted  you  from  start. 
How  she  bore  the  smart. 

Wasted  her  heart ! 


668  Man  or  Spider  ? 

At  last  in  her  time  she  paled  away — 

You  came  not  again  to  take  her  hand, 

So  she  went  alone  to  her  higher  day, 
Her  new  other  pale  perfecter  land, 

Never  one  thought  once  but  of  you 
She  tied  such  sweet  longing  to 

To  her  last  day  true. 

Give  a  moment  my  way,  if  you  will : 
Under  this  cypress  have  one  look 

At  one  little  garden-plot  hill ! 

See  her  steps  she  left,  see  her  way  she  took 

Where  she  waits  among  her  flowers  for  you 
Just  as  she  used  to  do, 

Just  the  same  way  true! 


KNOW  THY  HORSE 

This  time  was  winter — the  road  begun  to  sing 
Like  a  Stradivarius  now  a  sleigh 
Drew  bow  without  the  fingering — 
Men  would  wince  and  pinch  and  pray 
For  summer — you  know  the  way! 

Farmer  Bosom  and  his  wife  took  reckoning 
How  they  should  have  not  an  inch  of  use 
For  Strutty,  while  just  wintering 
A  horse  was  waste — better  choose 
To  sell  him  than  keep  and  lose. 

Such  fine  kind  horse  was  Strutty,  small  doubt  of  that, 
Had  done  round  service,  too,  in  his  day, 
A  point  they  pricked  and  halted  at, 
Yet  scarce  could  they  feel  a  way 
To  keep  him— no  work,  no  pay! 

So  next  day,  now  the  thing  was  settled,  "What  say," 
Said  Bosom,  "if  we  write  a  notice 
To  put  his  color  proper  bay, 
To  tell  how  fine  his  coat  is, 
His  temper,  for  just  so  't  is?" 

Not  so  freely — neither  Bosom  nor  his  wife 
Had  shouldered  pen  in  either  hand 
To  scratch  a  thought  in  half  a  life, 
Scarcely  now  could  understand 
How  to  take  a  pen  in  hand. 
669 


(>7o  Know  Thy  Horse 

Prime  Rastus,  he  was  one  clever  one,  't  was  said, 
Village  auctioneer,  could  read  and  write — 
Why  not  try  him,  hire  his  head 
To  do  the  shining  bright, 
Put  Strutty  in  a  proper  light? 

Prime  Rastus,  so,  was  summoned  to  take  a  hand, 
Put  ink  to  purpose,  let  the  world  know 
What  a  horse  was  Strutty,  how  prime  grand. 
How  he  would  snort  and  polish  so. 
How  like  splinters  he  could  go. 

Here,  then,  I  give  it  you,  word  for  word,  my  word 

As  just  he  wrote  it  for  not  a  jot 

But  Strutty's  fine  points  must  have  spurred 

To  praises  so  overwrought — 

Truth  or  no  truth  mattered  not: 

Vide  ! 
A  horse 
For  selling 
For  better 
Or  worse 
To  the  letter 
This  day- 
No  telling 
AllI 

Have  to  say 
Of  his  eye. 
Of  his  face, 
Of  his  play 
And  place 
Among  stars, 
Of  his  run 


Know  Thy  Horse  671 


Between  bars 
Like  the  sun 
About  Mars — 
Zounds,  for  a  horse 
What  a  horse ! 
What  for  fins 
At  his  feet, 
What  for  shins 
That  are  fleet — 
What  for  power 
To  cut  loose 
For  an  hour 
Like  a  moose — 
Proper  kind; 
A  new  tail 
On  behind, 
Goes,  of  course, 
At  the  sale 
With  the  horse — 
Mark  the  bow 
Of  his  neck, 
Mark  the  glow 
Not  a  rein 
Could  restrain 
Nor  a  check — 
Driven 
By  men, 
Given 
By  men 
To  know 
When  to  stop, 
When  to  go, 
How  to  prop, 
How  to  show, 


672  Know  Thy  Horse 


So  now 
And  you  meet 
A  new  lass 
In  the  street 
He  will  bow, 
He  will  stop 
Ere  he  pass — 
And  you  take 
Her  to  ride 
He  will  walk 
For  your  sake, 
And,  beside. 
He  will  balk 
To  start  slow 
As  thought 
Out  of  dough — 
All  a  steed 
For  all  need. 
All  agreed 
He  's  a  mood 
That  he  could, 
If  he  would, 
Write  and  read — 
All  the  brain 
Of  a  man 
On  your  sky- 
Lighted  plan 
To  succeed — 
So  to  buy 
To  win  is, 
And  suffice 
It  to  say 
That  the  price 
You  're  to  pay, 


Know  Thy  Horse  673 

Forty  guineas, 
Would  not  slate 
Half  the  rate 
Of  his  pate, 
Of  his  gait!!! 

Now  Prime  Rastus  builded  better  than  he  knew, 
Since  Bosom  and  his  wife,  taking  heed 
How  what  he  wrote  was  "certain  true," 
How  Strutty  was  much  indeed. 
Lofty  toppy,  noble  breed, 

Came  to  conclusion,  the  more  of  it  they  read. 
If  Strutty  were  such  a  horse  as  now 
They  knew  from  what  Prime  Rastus  said, 
To  keep  him — so  took  a  vow 
Not  to  sell  him  anyhow! 


43 


LEO  AND  ELFINELLA 

Says  Leo,  I  have  my  lick  at  life; 

There  are  my  cottage  and  pretty  wife 

And  trinkets  to  pay  for  my  day  of  strife. 

The  world  I  take  as  it  comes ! 

Each  keen  wind  that  troubles  and  drums 
I  whip  into  gold  by  my  soul  of  thumbs. 

I  pluck  the  juice  of  the  stars, 

To  find  life  only  one  painted  farce. 

So  what  of  this  withered  hide  of  scars? 

What  if  I  die  in  a  day, 

And  they  have  taken  my  world  away, 

I  've  had  my  lick  at  it,  play  and  say ! 

What  if  I  never  know 

Whether  the  truth  be  this  or  no 

That  life  means  only  a  touch  and  go. 

So  that  I  feast  an  hour, 

Play  honey-fly  in  mountain  bower 

To  get  my  share  of  the  world  in  flower 

To  pack  my  gut,  flutter. 

Noise  abroad  by  my  conch  of  clutter, 
Content  to  bubble  above  my  gutter, 
674 


Leo  and  Elfinella  675 

So  that  I  get  my  fling, 

So  that  I  let  the  cymbals  ring, 

So  I  make  merry  and  most  of  the  thing? 

Elfinella 

Another  day  is  in  branch, 

My  day  too. 
Another  day  to  redden  and  blanche 

And  polish  blue, 
A  day  for  me  as  well  as  for  you. 

Not  born  am  I,  and  as  yet 

I  am  not 
What  you  may  coddle  or  man  may  get 

Or  men  have  sought 
More  than  the  elfin  they  know  of  not. 

I  am  to  get  my  life. 

Like  as  you, 
Get  my  feast  of  sun  and  crop  of  strife 

To  be,  to  do, 
To  come  to  power  by  the  God's  way  too. 

Yet  am  I  to  be  born. 

As  were  you. 
To  take  up  my  pathway  on  and  on 

Your  blood-life  through 
To  grow  my  spirit  and  mould  it  too 

To  nobler  purpose  beyond 

What  I  find 
Where  you  are  put  in  training  and  bond 

To  widen  to  more  spirit  and  mind 
Than  your  pot-bush  world  you  leave  behind. 


676  Leo  and  Hlfinella 

Once  on  a  time  wc  met, 

I  and  you, 
So  we  are  not  to  forever  forget, 

For  soul  is  eternal  and  therefore  true, 
And  we  shall  be  one  yet,  I  and  you. 

You  have  forgotten  me, 

And  because 
You  in  your  world  forget  to  see 

What  went  before  you  that  ever  was, 
You  that  are  smothered  in  rump  and  jaws. 

Together  were  we  ago, 

You  and  I ; 
We  loved  and  promised  and  tried  to  know 

If  love  meant  only  to  pass  us  by. 
If  life  meant  only  to  squint  and  die. 

You  had  your  way  of  thought, 

Which  was  this. 
That  life  is  only  gut  to  be  got. 

Struggle  only  a  thing  to  miss. 
And  death  an  end  with  an  emphasis. 

You  thought  to  make  most 

Of  the  thing 
By  making  a  point  of  rabbit-roast 

And  fribble  or  mouthy  muttering 
Against  truth,  against  power  of  soul 
To  compass  lastly  the  lasting  whole. 

I  took  another  thought, 

Which  was  this. 
That  life  is  more  than  life  to  be  got — 

More  than  the  life  that  is 
Is  soul,  and  the  only  emphasis. 


Leo  and  Elfinella  677 

So  were  we  parted  then 

In  that  time 
Of  another  world  of  different  men, 

Men  meant  to  cUmb 
To  what  is  evermore  more  sublime. 

That  way  I  lost  you  then, 

That  you  see! 
Yet  what  is  lost  shall  be  found  again 

In  eternity, 
All  place  in  place  for  you  and  me. 

So  shall  you  struggle  on. 

This  I  know, 
While  I,  too,  am  to  be  corporate-bom 

To  take  the  likewise-way  you  go 
To  grow  me  greater  some  way,  so 

I  may  yet  come  to  you. 

Like  as  you 
May  come  to  me  by  the  same  way  too 

Of  Beautifulness  which  is  Power 
Beyond  toe-reach  or  potato-flower. 

Not  all  in  one  life  is  done; 

More  is  for   me 
Than  chinch  or  plum-life  under  the  sun; 

More  upon  more  is  to  be 
Since  I  hold  a  universe  in  fee. 

Leo 

You,  so,  are  not  yet  bom 

Whom  I  seek  for  to  dote  upon. 

And  may  not  be  before  I  am  gone! 


678  Leo  and  Iilfinella 

Elfinella. 

'Round  in  the  worlds  of  space, 

/    You  may  know, 
Abundance  there  is  of  time  and  place 

For  men  to  be  born  again  and  go 
And  be  born  again  forever  so. 

Leo 

Ah,  but  to  what  end 

Do  I  knit  together  and  unbend 

And  gain  my  purpose  and  lose  my  friend? 

Elfinella 

Beauty  is  lastly  truth 

To  each  dot, 
Is  beyond  the  pink  lax  lip  of  youth. 

And  that,  too,  whether  or  not 
I  look  to  youth  for  each  Beauty  spot. 

So  is  the  thing  I  seek 

Not  what  I  grew, 
Chalk  in  an  alabaster  cheek, 

Eyes  of  hyacinthine  blue. 
But  Beauty  which  comes  of  being  true. 

I  shall  be  bom  again 

Into  mind. 
Not  to  capture  the  gains  of  men 

They  plough  to  and  leave  heart  behind. 
But  Beauty  which  comes  of  being  kind. 

Your  world  I  shall  come  to  know, 
Right  and  wrong. 


Leo  and  Elfinella  679 

Not  for  the  feast  of  it  or  show 

Of  goldflower  or  silver  song, 
But  Beauty  which  comes  of  being  strong. 

Worlds  are  many,  while  so, 

You  shall  see, 
I  and  you  are  to  come  and  go 

Many  rough  ways  of  eternity 
Ere  I  reach  to  you  and  you  reach  to  me. 

Leo 

Close  draws  my  day  to  an  end! 

If  I  am  ever  to  have  you,  my  friend 

I  love  so,  small  matter  what  toil  to  that  end. 

True,  in  my  life  I  have  done 

Most  my  worst  as  the  foot-fields  run, 
So  I  'm  to  finish  where  I  begun. 

Yet  is  my  love  of  you 

Come  to  last  as  the  days  stay  blue. 
And  I  'm  to  begin  life  over  new. 

What  if  that  hour  you  are  bom 

Shall  find  me  withered,  or  past  and  gone, 
There  are  you  always  to  follow  on ! 

Love  could  not  breathe  to  cheat. 

All  things  are  bound  to  be  complete, 
Nothing  is  broken  or  obsolete. 

Now  do  I  see  you  clear 

Out  in  your  finer  atmosphere 

Than  blues  or  yellows  an  atom  here. 


68o  Leo  and  Elfinclla 

There  are  you  now  in  keep 

Of  a  new  cloud  and  livelier  sweep 

Of  leven  than  any  brain  could  reap! 

About  you  your  new  light  speaks 

Of  power  beyond  the  pigment  of  cheeks, 
And  not  a  pottle  of  moonlight  leaks. 

About  you  comes  each  new  form 

More  perfect  than  what  it  parted  from, 

As  worlds  float  out  of  their  melted  storm. 

About  you  the  new  throat  rings, 

Tambourine-birds  in  unspeakable  wings, 
And  Beauty  is  just  the  spirit  of  things. 

Why  shall  you  seek  to  come 

To  earth  again  where  hearts  are  numb 

Till  men  would  cudgel  each  other  dumb? 

Elfinella 

I  am  the  spirit  of  the  wind ! 

Once  it  was 
I  played  at  loss,  for  I  tricked  and  sinned 

In  that  I  tried  to  unmaster  laws 
To  dodge  each  effort  of  kinging  cause, 

So  now  am  I  dropped  behind 

To  try  again, 
Take  my  new  turn  of  body  and  mind 

To  come  to  power  out  of  joy  and  pain 
Above  any  world  or  its  way  of  gain. 


Leo  and  Elfinella  68 1 

First,  there  's  to  learn  to  love 

What  is  true 
For  love  of  it,  just  love  is  enough, 

Never  for  any  profit  to  you, 
As  I  shall  learn  to  love  to  be  true. 

There  are  ways  to  be  great 

I  shall  take, 
Such  as  wrong  I  strike  to  subjugate, 

And  I  put  this  breath  of  life  at  stake 
For  Truth  and  the  good  I  think  and  make. 

So  is  my  way  of  life 

Through  an  earth 
Conquest  by  way  of  mammoth  strife 

By  which  I  come  to  vaster  worth 
Of  purpose,  come  to  nobler  birth. 

For  you  the  like  life  too, 

You  to  go 
To  what  is  beautifullest  true 

And  mighty,  as  the  Gemini  show 
Magnitude  by  their  sweep  of  glow. 

Be  you  in  your  world, 

I  in  mine. 
Be  we  this  way  or  that  way  hurled. 

One  unique  purpose  is  twice  divine, 
I  to  be  yours  yet,  you  to  be  mine. 

Many  worlds,  many  lives 

To  and  fro. 
While  everything  dies  and  survives 

As  men  come  and  go, 
And  I  am  more  than  the  thing  I  know. 


682  Leo  and  Elfinella 

Once  were  we  forced  asunder, 

I  and  you, 
By  just  our  one  pitiless  blunder! 

There  's  only  to  be  and  do, 
And  no  escape  for  me  or  you 

But  to  perform  one  part 

Down  to  death, 
Nobility  of  soul  and  heart, 

Such  Beautifulness  as  draws  a  breath 
Beyond  what  reason  reasoneth. 

Here  is  a  new  pure  light 

Encircles  me. 
Bridles  and  baffles  so  my  sight 

I  have  no  power  in  me  to  see, 
Such  is  the  power  of  purity ! 

A  new  music  is  about, 

So  rare  and  free 
As  to  put  all  harmony  to  rout. 

As  beckons,  yet  so  puzzles  me 
That  am  not  shapen  to  get  the  glee 

In  such  prelude.     My  other  sun, 

Beyond  sky 
I  know  could  never  have  been  begun, 

Never  was  ordained  to  die 
Or  flourish  nothing,  more  than  I. 

I  find  me  out  of  place, 

Much  as  a  brill, 
Once  out  of  water,  coils  at  space, 

Snatches  to  try  to  get  his  fill 
Of  the  wanton  air,  and  then  is  still. 


Leo  and  Elfinella  683 

Leo. 

You  are  out  of  life,  the  while 

I  am  in  it  to  sorrow  and  smile 

And  gain  by  an  inch  and  miss  by  a  mile. 

Elfinella 

You  are  in  it  to  make  most 

Of  such  power 
As  comes  of  breathless  immortal  ghost 

I  see  hiding  behind  an  hour 
To  ripen  in  any  hazel-flower. 

You  are  in  it  to  make  hold 

Of  such  power 
To  play  the  man  to  an  outer  cold, 

Nor  count  the  sweet  of  it  or  sour, 
So  you  come  to  your  kingdom — Power. 

All  men  are  immortal, 

Yet  not  all 
Stand  equi-great,  equi-small, 

But  one  is  under,  another  is  tall 
As  moonlight,  another  is  kneeling  doll. 

For  each  is  time  in  store, 

Each  to  snatch 
His  turn  at  the  wheel,  and  more  and  more 

Of  sublimity  to  catch 
For  love  of  it  and  to  match  his  match. 

Pretty  ways  are  these 

Through  the  sky 


684  Leo  and  Elfinclla 

Our  worlds  take,  eagles  in  a  breeze — 

They  know  only  their  way  to  fly 
Uppermost  always  where  thought  is  high — 

Your  way  to  me,  mine  to  you, 

Nor  counts  this  sj^acc 
Or  time  for  anything  which  is  true 

Of  spirit  or  the  hiding-place 
Of  Beauty  which  looks  without  a  face. 

Love  lasts — 't  is  a  trick 

Of  soul, 
Finer  than  any  prairie-quick, 

Vaster  than  what  puts  the  roll 
Of  planets  to  their  plump  control. 

I  last,  you  last  to  change 

Into  shape 
Of  other  more  majestic  range 

Of  purpose  than  calculating  ape 
Proud  of  his  flounce  and  knotted  nape. 

Since  we  are  meant  to  last 

Above  weather, 
Since  love  is  not  a  thing  of  the  past 

To  perish  as  a  nub  of  heather. 
Truly  one  day  we  shall  come  together. 

By  what  world,  what  life,  what  way 

We  may  meet 
Goes  not  for  me  in  my  hour  to  say. 

Save  that  this  thought  of  mine  is  sweet. 
That  the  soul  of  things  is  at  last  complete. 


Leo  and  Hlfinella  685 

Death  gives  a  new  kind  of  thought, 

For  it  saith : 
"  I  am  what  I  appear  to  be  not, 

I  am  life  the  while,  while  Death 
Is  only  the  new  other  brilliant  breath." 


THINKING  OF  EUNICE 


Squash-flower  is  in  blow, 

Hops  are  in  bell, 
Blackthorn  promises  sloe, 

King-fly  is  in  his  cotton  cell 
When  I  take  my  way  across  meadow 

In  between  oak  and  apple-shadow 
To  where  Eunice  is,  just  over  the  hill— 

I  shall  find  her  there  at  her  window-sill! 

First  through  the  woods  I  go; 

Comes  then  the  long  hill-top; 
Floats  the  factory-pond  below; 

Beyond  stands  the  stocking-shop. 
While  next  in  one  small  side-hill 

Her  cottage  is — how  well  I  know 
She  will  be  there  at  her  window-sill 

Among  her  flowers  and  of  them  so! 

Here  am  I  at  the  pond; 

This  is  her  slight  canoe; 
We  were  there  beyond, 

Just  the  other  day  too, 
To  pull  those  lilies  in  long  grass, 

Watch  the  ox-eyed  heaven  pass, 
Get  a  whifi"  of  this  generous  air 

Bringing  us  sweetness  from  everywhere. 
6S6 


Thinking  of  Eunice  687 

Now  am  I  at  her  gate ; 

Here  lies  her  gravel  path; 
Here,  too,  I  hesitate 

For  the  fineness  which  it  hath, 
So  like  her — do  I  fear 

May  be  she  may  not  be  here, 
Or  do  I  stop  at  a  thought  to  stir 

For  so  much  pleasure  at  finding  her? 

This  is  her  cider-tree; 

She  set  it  out  in  June; 
Hark  what  rounded  melody 

Drops  from  her  new  festoon 
Of  grape  where  it  hangs  between 

Peach-bush  and  window-screen 
Now  the  hornblower  trumpets  such  sweetness 

Life  looks  blossom  and  all  completeness ! 

Yonder  her  settle  of  oak ! 

It  seems  but  a  day  ago 
Her  mellow  bluestart  broke 

Into  such  rapture  so 
Under  the  moon  where  we  sat 

To  listen  to  his  chime  and  chat, 
We  forgot,  between  moon  and  campion 
V  And  song-shout,  that  any  night  was  on. 

This  is  her  plot  of  holly-rose ; 

Once  she  pulled  the  flower  for  me: 
"So  life  comes  and  goes. 

But  Beauty  stays  unendingly," 
She  said,  and  gave  me  the  flower, 

Much  as  to  say.  Beauty  is  Power, 
Nothing  of  it  is  dropped  by  the  way, 

Soul  is  Beauty  and  come  to  stay. 


688  Thinking  of  Eunice 

How  I  remember  one  night ! 

Each  star  was  hung  in  view 
Up  in  no  end  of  height, 

Down  in  the  mill-pond  too 
To  say :  Only  shadow  is  there 

In  your  shallow  world,  nor  inch  to  spare; 
Only  up  here  in  eternal  far 

You  discover  your  real  star. 

What  thought  was  ours,  who  shall  say? 

We  would  watch  shadows  skip, 
Leaves  slap  each  other,  then  lip  to  lip 

Almost  in  our  human  way ! 
We  were  that  cheek  to  cheek 

As  lily-pad  and  lily-creek; 
We  were  that  much  wholly  one 

As  yonder  solid  single  sun. 

"  Could  you  put  me  away 

Out  of  your  thought  an  hour 
As  moonbeams  play 

With  this  clary  flower? 
Moonbeams  pretend  to  be  the  sun. 

Bear  his  light  and  gonfalon 
Only  to  give  warm  looks,  the  same 

As  this  feverfew — there  springs  no  flame  ?"- 

She  would  ask.     All  her  trust 

Was  mine  in  spite  of  doubt ; 
Love  rules  because  it  must, 

Drives  each  cavilment  out. 
I  was  come  just  to  show  her  plain 

Love  has  only  love  to  gain, 
Which  she  could  so  perfectly  understand 

Now  I  held  her  heart  and  her  pretty  hand. 


Thinking  of  Eunice  689 

Ripe  inula  stood  in  place 

And  yellow  and  just  as  bright 
As  the  moon's  new  yellow  face 

Which  kept  us  so  in  sight 
I  reached  and  I  got  the  flower  there, 

Tucked  it  her  way  in  her  gentle  hair 
Just  between  temple  and  brow — 

I  wonder  if  she  keeps  it  now ! 

This  is  her  cottage-door; 

How  her  lattice- vine  is  grown 
So  large  as  never  before ; 

How  her  orange-bush  has  blown 
So  it  lops  the  path  in  two 

As  if  to  say  I  shall  not  go  through, 
And  I  hark,  and  her  shrike  is  still — 

She  is  not  there  at  her  window-sill ! 

Grasses  shoot  up  between 

The  chinks  in  her  garden- walk; 
Gone  is  her  garden's  elegant  mien. 

Pea-tree  and  its  pretty  balk; 
Gone  is  the  ring  of  the  whippoorwill — 

She  is  no  more  at  her  window-sill ! 
Among  her  flowers  there  waits  for  me 

Only  the  spot  where  she  used  to  be. 


II 


Something  in  life  I  miss 

As  the  fine  days  come  and  go; 
Something  in  life  there  is 

Follows  close  to  me  so 


690  Thinking  of  Eunice 

I  look  while  I  know  I  see 

Life  means  never  loss  to  me, 

But  more  to  me  than  I  am, 

And  nothing  is  shuck  just,  or  tricky  sham. 

Down  in  my  heart  I  keep 

The  very  thing  I  miss! 
There  's  a  thought  to  reap 

To  wonder  what  it  is 
Which  I  have  which  I   have  not ! 

Is  there  more  of  life  to  be  got 
Than  soul  which  is  true  and  free 

And  full  of  the  genuineness  of  me? 

My  Eunice  is  gone  away, 

So  many  years  ago, 
While  I  am  back  this  day 

To  where  her  papilio 
Ducked  in  primrose,  where  her  pipit 

Hugged  his  song,  would  not  lip  it 
Nor  give  up  a  note  of  it  until 

She  stood  there  at  her  window-sill. 

So  fast  in  my  soul  she  is. 

Yet  is  she  gone  away! 
What  is  it,  then,  which  I  miss 

This  very  sun-above  day 
I  had  her  here  years  ago 

Among  her  doves  and  cinnamon-show? 
What  is  it  now  which  I  miss 

If  I  have  her  so  in  my  heart  like  this? 

Is  it  her  tiny  hand? 

What  were  that  one  whit  more 


Thinking  of  Eunice  691 

Than  this  Tyrolese  band 

At  her  throat  she  wore 
And  I  have  now?     She  gave  it  nie 

For  something  I  could  touch  and  see 
Which  was  hers — there  too  was  her  hand 

I  could  touch  and  see —  you  understand ! 

This  was  her  paper  fan 

Which  wrinkles  and  has  a  breath 
And  a  certain  span 

And  a  certain  death; 
Baffles  the  same  wind  too 

She  baffled  and  blew  and  drew — 
A  palm  and  fingers  and  pitapat! 

What  counts  the  small  hand  more  than  that? 

This  is  her  lily-patch, 

White  lilies  on  a  stem 
Which  only  her  hand  could  match, 

Could  match  the  best  of  them. 
Could  open  the  same  way  wide, 

Show  the  same  red  heart  inside, 
So  she  gave  me  her  hand  this  hour 

I  hold  its  image — her  mountain  flower ! 

Why  shall  I  think  her  gone 

Because  I  do  not  see 
Her  step  across  this  lawn. 

Her  hand  in  her  white  guava  tree? 
Have  I  no  more  to  follow  in  her 

Than  foot-flight  or  muckender? 
Or  do  I  not  have  her  by  me  near 

Now  her  spring  and  her  birds  are  here? 


692  Thinking  of  Eunice 

There  in  her  vScckel  tree 

Her  veery  fines  his  song 
To  lift  it  high  for  me 

As  heaven  from  his  topmost-prong, 
Her  song  which  he  caught  from  her 

Right  as  April  began  to  stir; 
And  now  a  new  April  is  in  ken, 

Lo,  her  voice — I  have  it  again! 

This  her  apricot-bush 

Keeps  the  grace  of  her  play 
And  her  pretty  hush 

And  her  toss  and  sway 
Of  elegance  to  the  purple  top 

She  gave  it  by  her  scallop  and  chop, 
While  there  and  just  out  of  reach 

Is  her  pink  in  the  cheek  of  the  peach. 

Yonder  the  fine  clean  sky 

Made  of  such  perfect  blue 
And  I  have  her  heavenward  eye 

To  look  to  me  deep  and  so  true 
As  one  round  blue  vault  of  lofty  skies 

Planted  its  image  in  her  eyes, 
Her  look  of  the  planeted  sky, 

True  always  and  ever  most  high. 

So  I  have  her  this  far. 

So  I  keep  her  in  sight 
As  I  get  the  pink  of  a  star 

Clean  through  my  prop  of  night. 
For  here  are  her  cheek  and  ivory  hand 

Each  year  in  her  japonica  land, 
So  comes  it  that  I  have  her  still 

'Though  she  be  no  more  at  her  window-sill. 


Thinking  of  Eunice  693 

See,  I  pick  this  flower, 

I  hide  it  in  my  breast  away; 
Each  moon  that  passes  and  each  hour 

Give  it  just  that  much  more  to  say 
To  cHnch  this  truth:     Nothing  is 

My  best  which  I  was  meant  to  miss — 
*T  is  so  I  clasp  her,  I  have  her  still , 

'Though  she  be  no  more  at  her  window-sill ! 


TO  A  STREET  MINSTREL 

Ahoy 
To  our  tambourine-boy 
Of  the  street! 
Ahoy  to  his  click, 
To  the  trick 
Of  his  feet, 
To  the  sweep  of  his  head 
For  a  chance 
To  win  his  bread 
By  the  spank  of  the  dance ! 
Ahoy  to  him  there  where  he  leaps 
In  his  street-rubbish  heaps! 

All  's  well 
In  his  mix  of  pell-mell ! 
Look  you  too 
To  the  big  soul-size 
Of  his  eyes 
Through  and  blue! 
Here  's  a  luck  to  his  art 
For  a  way 
He  flings  his  heart 
In  his  tambourine-play, 
His  soul  through  his  chirrup  of  song- 
All  health  to  his  gong! 
694 


To  a  Street  Minstrel  695 

Hoorah 
To  my  cobble-stone  star 
In  his  rags! 
Hoorah  to  his  clink 
At  the  brink 
Of  the  flags, 
To  his  castanet-song 
To  a  pitch 

And  the  note  is  strong 
As  the  soul  is  rich — 
Long  luck  to  his  jacket  of  shags, 
Star-spangled  rags! 

All  hail 
To  the  face  thin  and  pale! 
Have  a  care 
Of  the  small  white  hand 
Of  command 
Which  is  there, 
Of  his  tunic  of  holes 
And  his  luck 
To  capture  souls 
By  his  mountain  of  pluck 
Which  wins  and  has  spirit  to  spare — 
God's  luck  to  him  there! 


Hark  sharp 
To  each  spring  of  his  harp ! 
Clap  an  ear 
To  the  symphan-phase 
Of  his  lays 
True  and  clear 
As  they  ripen  to  rob. 


696  To  a  Street  Minstrel 

By  a  note, 
The  storm  of  its  mob 

Like  a  robin's  throat — 
To  my  curbstone  king  of  the  year 
On  his  chorus-career! 

Look  there 
To  his  bundle  of  care 

Which  is  part 
Of  his  soul  and  hand 

By  command 

Of  his  heart 
Not  to  quit  nor  to  flinch 

By  a  breath, 
Nor  yield  an  inch 
To  the  snarling  of  death 
Where  he  drums  and  masters  his  art 
And  bugles  his  heart ! 

To-night 
He  is  plain  in  your  sight ; 
To-morrow 
He  's  back  in  the  earth 
Of  his  birth 
And  your  sorrow, 
To  shout  no  more  ahoy 
To  his  June, 
Nor  jump  for  joy 
To  his  street-corner  tune; 
Look  you  alive  — who  shall  borrow 
Breath  of  to-morrow? 

Look  alive, 
*T  is  divinest  to  strive ! 


r 


To  a  Street  Minstrel  697 

Look  again 
How  his  star  will  shine 

For  divine 

Among  men! 
To  his  tambourine-bells 

And  they  ring 

How  life  foretells 
He  is  bom  to  be  king 
By  his  bell  and  wing,  like  the  wren, 
High  lines  above  men! 


DON  DUN 

BoNNYCLABBER  glum-sighted  Don  Dun 
'  ..  Was  his  cut, 

Was  his  name  he  had,  so  that  but 
For  the  little  he  had  done 
Since  his  breath  begun, 

I  might  have  thought  him  wisdom-freighted, 
Talent-pated 

To  mark  him  waddle  up  his  street, 

Heel  and  toe, 
Like  as  if  God  made  him  so 
The  gist  of  him  shoiild  be  feet, 
He  to  stump  and  reel  about, 
Fling  his  ultra  superb  pout 

The  town  about. 

Don  Dun,  for  need  of  soul,  married; 

I  would  say 
Better  of  him  had  he  tarried 
To  let  one  good  woman  take  her  way 
And  time  to  choose  another. 
Get  her  the  one  lord-hearted  brother 

One  lucky  day. 

Knew  he  better,  did  Don  Dun, 
Had  his  whim 
698 


Don  Dun  699 

There  was  not  good  enough  for  him 
In  petticoat  under  the  sun — 
Was  he  not  Don  Dun? 
Was  there  the  i-dot  more  to  be  said 
From  A  to  Zed? 

To  himself  he  covdd  be  good,  this  Dun! 

She,  the  wife. 
Should  help  him  coddle  his  value-life, 
They  two  to  be  one, 
Whilst  that  one,  be  it  understood, 
Should  be  Dun-royal,  only  Dun, 

All  for  her  good! 

Made  are  women  to  be  trained, 

So  he  said; 
Are  all  heart,  little  head, 
While  men  go  monsterly  brained 
To  vast  purpose,  to  bring  good 
Out  of  evil — that  he  cotdd. 

That  he  would. 

Now,  then,  to  trim  her, 

See  her  wince. 
Teach  her  putty-lip,  he  for  Prince 
To  hold  her  to  her  primer, 
She  to  learn  his  kingful  mood. 
Knuckle  under,  sneeze  subdued. 

All  for  her  good. 

His  way,  just  his  way,  was  right; 

That  he  knew 
By  the  owl  in  him  and  cockatoo 
And  doubtlessness  of  a  cenobite. 


700  Don  Dun 

Since  God  made  him  to  rule  her, 
To  quash,  rob,  please,  and  fool  her 
Like  a  schooler. 

She  must  poke  the  meek  ankle-gait, 

Learn  to  stalk 
Sidewise,  just  the  nobody-walk 
To  put  him,  by  contrast,  great — 
Were  they  not  both  together  one, 
One  mightiness  under  the  sun. 

Which  was  Dun? 

What  mattered  it  how  she  thought. 

So  he  knew 
The  speck  part  of  a  thing  or  two, 
Knew  this  was  that,  that  was  not? 
Was  he  not  tuned  to  squeak 
For  edification  of  the  weak 

From  chop  to  cheek? 

So  was  it  at  last  he  had  her, 

By  such  trick. 
Meek  as  rung-rods  in  a  ladder, 
Self-thoughted  as  his  walking-stick 
To  take  him  softly  by  the  hand. 
To  harken  leaf -like  to  his  command, 

Look  happy-bland. 

Now  comes  the  tug — now  came  a  day 

In  his  life 
He  needed  the  proof-perfect  wife 
For  what  she  could  do  or  say 
To  nerve  him  to  fight  his  cause. 
Perchance  to  save  him  from  mighty  loss, 

Lighten  his  cross. 


Don  Dun  701 

Looked  he  for  her  there  and  then, 

Now  he  was  weak 
In  his  mastiff-clinch  among  men, 
Bade  her  not  sigh  to  him,  but  speak, 
Play  woman,  be  his  bower, 
Muster  soiil  for  him  and  power 
That  same  hour, 

Nor  saw  how  this  truth  is  grown: 

Man  shall  reap 
Only  what  he  has  sown; 
Even  the  wife  of  his  bosom-keep 
Was  just  as  he  arrayed  her, 
Stopped  where  he  stayed  her. 

Small  as  he  made  her ! 

What  more  is  for  her  to  do 

Or  be 
Than  just  what  he  once  moulded  her  to? 
Look  to  see  if  you  can  see 
How,  among  all  lofty  things, 
A  chat  may  soar  if  you  choke  his  glee, 

Chop  his  wings! 


POLLY  MAN  AND  FOLLY  GIRL 

Snub-eye,  that  's  snob-eye, 

The  weevil-walk  in  white  pants, 

Any  color-colored  dye 

To  paint  his  vest  of  circumstance 

So  men  should  haul  up,  right  about  nose 

With:  There  's  the  Mighty,  there  he  goes! 

Did  his  shirt-front  look  too  white, 

'Twas  his  Pollux-look  of  light! 
Did  he  part  his  hair  in  twain, 

He  found  his  true  meridian! 
No  end  of  polish,  shoe  and  shoe, 

Only  to  outglisten  you! 

Spit-bug — such  an  artistic  spit; 

Hopper-dog — the  Prince's  hop 
He  copied,  and  the  joke  of  it, 

He  got  going  and  could  n't  stop. 
While  take  him  in  his  tints  and  squints 

And  men  would  say — There  goes  the  Prince! 

Two  hours  at  his  table-glass 

He  will  let  the  ribbons  play 
Between  his  fingers  just  to  class 

The  knot  he  ties  with  what  they  say 
Was  Duckington's  the  night  he  toed 

His  great  cotillon — how  he  glowed 
702 


Polly  Man  and  Folly  Girl  703 

In  velure,  half  tin-tinted, 

Clapped  a  window  to  one  eye 
Through  which  he  snapped  and  squinted 

Just  to  mount  to  majesty 
Of  cold  look — so  the  cold  soul  has 

Its  match  and  fellow — glass  to  glass !~ 

Ball  Night  now  is  on; 

He  shall  make  his  trotters  show 
How  like  feathers  they  can  go 

Now  there  's  kicking  to  be  done, 
Fan-fiaps  in  the  dancing  air 

All  to  pin  his  prettiness  there. 

Miladyness  the  opposite  side 

Ducks  her  face  behind  her  fan 
Like  the  linnet  tries  to  hide 

Once  she  sees  her  rifleman 
Taking  aim — there  goes  the  shot 

And  she  must  dodge  to  save  her  lot! 

Next  is  the  lofty  dance, 

Duckington's  cotillon  next, 
Such  augmented  circumstance 

There  is  ample-full  pretext 
To  ask  her  to  skirt  the  dance 

With  him  in  his  omnipotence. 

Take  him  for  the  collar-lop, 

Twenty  buttons  made  of  gold. 
Pasted  hair,  and  such  a  crop 

Of  colors  if  he  caprioled, 
And  how  should  a  wise  girl  miss 

Such  sweep  of  monarchy  as  was  his? 


704  Polly  Man  and  Folly  Girl 

Milady — she  will  like  to  see 

How  the  floor  below  her  slips, 

To  reach  to  such  sublimity 

As  glistens  at  his  finger-tips 

Only  to  join  his  caracole 

To  see  the  pin  wheel  in  his  soul ! 

So  she  yields,  breath-expectant. 

He  lord  pompous  and  amplectant 

The  while  they  swing  and  swish 
Elbow-bowed  and  willowish 

About  the  lamps,  like  as  the  moth 
Bobbles  in  his  cedar  cloth. 

She  is  thinking  of  her  fan : 
Might  it  open  for  a  wing 

To  lift  her  into  flickering 

Above  her  yellow-button  man 

Where  she  could  perch  away 

Out  of  reach  of  his  puppy-play ! 

He  is  thinking  of  her  for  wife; 

He  is  sure  to  tell  her  so; 
He  has  need  of  her  for  life, 

Never  mind  the  why  or  no ! 
She  will  suit  his  table-style. 

Furnish  him  with  plump  and  smile 

Such  as  youngness  in  the  cheek — 
She  for  somewhat  he  may  take 

To  nibble,  like  an  Easter  cake. 

And  so  he  takes  his  chance  to  speak, 

To  talk  to  her  of  life  and  love 
And  all  his  pretty  other  stuff. 


Polly  Man  and  Folly  Girl  705 

But  hark — there  's  the  linnet's  voice ! 

Look  too — there  's  the  linnet's  eye 
Sighted  to  make  her  perfect  choice, 

Levelled  to  see  the  reason  why, 
All  as  her  moon-flower  would  have  done 

To  dodge  the  cloud,  to  lodge  the  sun. 

"True,"  she  said,  "you  know  to  dance. 

Eagle's  wings  to  you  for  feet, 
You  have  button-circumstance. 

Have  collar — your  claim  complete! 
What  for  such  back  of  elegant  prop. 

All  the  duds  of  a  custom-shop ! 

"  Look  you  do  by  an  eye  of  glass, 

Spirit  such  as  the  window  has; 
Tied  is  your  throat  to  a  golden  string 

As  if  your  bow-knot  tied  a  king; 
What  for  whiskering  and  the  rest! 

What  map  of  majesty  in  a  vest! 

"Say  me  one  thing  you  have  done 
More  than  take  your  bite  of  sun 

Or  snooze  in  your  daily  shade, 
Pick  your  lick  of  marmalade, 

Run  your  two  eyes  through  a  gem, 
Show  your  teeth  for  diadem! 

"Yet  you  are,  as  the  world  says,  nice. 
Wear  beautiful  hands,  you  have  eyes 

Bright  as  a  Bird  of  Paradise, 

Beside  which,  over  and  above, 

I  know  how  soldierly  you  could  love — 
There  *s  this  life  to  the  point  enough ! 

45 


7o6  Polly  Man  and  Folly  Girl 

"So  let  us  up  to  the  dance, 

Nor  thought  of  this  purpose-world 

Of  soul  or  sober  circumstance, 

Enough  if  we  be  jounced  and  whirled 

Into  joy — there  's  a  thing  to  do — 

So  on  with  the  dance — I  '11  marry  you!' 


CAMPO  SANTO 

Lay  me  in  some  lavender  spot 

After  I  am  gone; 
My  bush-chat  will  forget  me  not, 

He  will  dance  about  his  lawn 
To  try  to  have  me  hear  him  again 

When  he  makes  his  hop  and  run 
Under  the  sun, 

When  he  tumbles  his  great  refrain 
In  the  tumbling  rain. 

Put  me  by  my  purple  river 

Where  I  drank 
Among  the  bubbles,  where  crowfoots  quiver 

On  the  bank, 
That  I  may  lie  forevermore 

Where  I  lay  before, 
Boy  there  on  the  laughing  shore, 

That  I  may  lie  there  like  my  river 
Which  is  gone,  yet  is  there  forever. 

Did  you  once  think  I  am  not  to  hear 

After  that, 
Nevermore  to  get  the  clear 

Ripe  tri-nme  of  my  chat. 
Know  never  what  is  going  on 
707 


7o8  Campo  Santo 

Across  my  lawn, 
Stoop  not  once  more  to  pluck 

Tree-moss,  strike  for  luck 
At  life  again  because  I  am  struck? 

Am  I  to  be  downed 

By  any  rising  sun? 
Am  I  no  nobler  than  this  ground 

To  lie  there,  to  keep  to  one  run 
About  the  sun, 

And  this  my  spirit  but  just  begun 
To  be  more  than  I  can  see, 

Never  the  mock  of  eternity, 
All  things  but  only  part  of  me? 

Look  you  to  this  chrysoprase 

I  have  in  hand 
Only  for  the  power  it  has 

To  throw  one  band 
Of  duck-wing  or  prairie-green 

Across  my  screen 
So  the  true  colors  may  be  seen 

To  be  no  part  of  my  gem 
Which  only  moulded  and  golded  them ! 

Shall  not  my  spirit  take  shape 

From  rib  and  nape, 
Learn  of  the  whisper  of  my  sigh 

How  to  long,  how  to  fly, 
Take  wing  on  the  last  low  breath 

Beyond  any  death. 
Quite  as  the  dog-star  flings  his  stripe 

Of  citron  of  eternal  type 
Beyond  all  clouds  the  eagles  wipe? 


Campo  Santo  709 

Put  me  by  my  hornbeam  tree 

With  its  wings 
Which  will  dip  the  dew  to  me 

Right  as  the  wood-lark  sings 
Under  his  kingdom  of  the  moon 

Between  these  arabis  flowers  of  June 
To  see  how  I  will  be  there 
I         To  claim  my  share 
With  all  my  love  of  the  narded  air. 

Lay  me  among  the  grasses 

When  moonlight  passes 
Just  where  the  chinkapin  props 

Its  thistle-finch  through  the  dark 
While  he  flutes  and  stops 

And  I  will  hark 
In  my  comer  of  his  park. 

Count  I  not  for  more  worth 
Than  conquests  of  an  earth? 

Grow  a  flower  or  two  for  me 

Below  my  belamy  tree ; 
I, will  come  to  see, 

Will  hover  there  to  gaze 
As  in  other  days, 

To  put  such  value  on  your  thought 
Which  forgot  me  not — 

Be  so  sure  I  shall  see 
You  only  grew  them  there  for  me. 

Lay  me  among  cassidony 

And  hops  and  honey 
And  briony 

And  peony 


7IO  Campo  Santo 

Where  they  climb  and  thrive — 

Is  not  everything  aHve? 
Could  anything  be  dead 

In  no  underneath  and  no  overhead 
And  no  end  of  things  to  be  thought  of  or  said? 

Bring  no  ululu, 

Nor  bring  any  thought  that  I  am  gone: 
Soul  shall  be  true  to  you, 

Shall  let  you  pass  on  and  on 
For  having  led  you  to  think 

There  's  no  collapse  nor  pit-hole  brink 
Where  no  underneath  is,  no  overhead. 

And  so  no  stopping-place  for  the  dead 
When  the  truth  of  things  is  heralded. 

Out  of  another  land 

I  shall  hold  your  hand 
To  lead  you  between  cloud-flowers  blue 

One  day  to  come  there  too! 
Think  me  never  so  far  away       ;i  -^  \-.  w?:  ,' 

But  I  'm  to  be  one  with  yoti 
As  love  loves  and  truth  is  true. 

Always  all  human  through  and  through. 


IN  AN  INN 

And  now,  my  lady,  a  word  with  you, 

Since  we  are  parted 
And  I  'm  to  put  you  out  of  view, 

We  to  leave  off  where  we  started, 
Each  to  follow  a  new  other  clue. 

And  I  'm  to  be  nothing  more  to  you ! 


Let  me  this  way  begin 

My  word  to  you,  now  you  are  gone. 
And  I  am  free  to  speak  freely  on  : 

I  met  you  at  an  inn 
Where  were  thump  and  boisterousness. 

Pop-thought  or  all  thoughtlessness. 
Hearts  cold  and  sharp  as  a  flounder's  fin. 


Just  at  noon  it  was, 

You  were  on  the  porch, 
You  were  there,  thought  I,  because 

The  sun  had  a  nip  and  scorch. 
And  you  built  a  nest  in  the  shade 

One  eagle- wood  tree  had  made. 
So  to  teach  the  tall  skies 

To  keep  their  distance — you  were  wise, 
711 


712  In  an  Inn 

But — why  teach  me  the  like  trick  too? 

Was  it  that  you  thought  I  would  love 
As  the  sun  does,  more  than  enough 

To  kindle  your  coolish  heart  in  you? 
Or,  since  you  saw  I  must  be  true 

As  Gods  are,  give  my  soul  to  you, 
Did  you  think  you  could  play  and  wait 

As  the  child  does,  I  your  doll  for  mate? 

I  would  not  tickle  you  by  talk 

Flies  make  when  they  sting  and  hawk, 
Nor  fold  me  double  to  make  my  bow 

Trunkily,  as  men  do  now, 
Let  each  quill-weed  show  me  how ; 

Nor  puff  up  would  I  to  slip  and  prance 
Like  squat-fellows  at  their  doodle-dance, 

Nor  bunch  with  the  rest  the  same 
As  likes  in  a  hill,  play  potato-game. 

So,  did  you  think,  I  would  not  do 
For  mate  or  for  match  with  you? 

Know  one  thing  in  the  world — this : 
More  shall  a  man  be,  be  as  he  is 

As  God  made  him,  let  him  hit  or  miss, 
Than  he  take  his  cue  or  his  hair 

Or  pantaloon-loop  from  that  man  there 
Of  the  black  waist  and  same  taste 

As  every  man  everyhow  everywhere. 

Or  there  was  your  man  to  growl, 

Brute  lip,  surly  scowl, 
Power  in  him  to  stand  pat 

Just  by  his  cheap  ugly  chat 


In  an  Inn  713 

And  masterdom — you  knew 

He  was  dog  and  drunken  too, 
Yet  he  held  the  mooning  eyes  of  you 

Like  the  pit- viper  coils  askew 
To  hold  his  young  tree-bird  still  and  true — 

Your  gentleman-rough  in  his  lynxy  fit ! 
Once  I  saw  him  slam  and  spit 

And  ruffle,  and  you  puff -proud  of  it ! 


Know  one  thing  in  the  world — this : 

There  goes  no  power  like  gentleness, 
Power  which  is  high  and  kind, 

Always  heart-foremost  inclined, 
And  wins  out.     Never  you  thought 

How  your  rough  gentleman  tricked  and  wrought, 
If  only  you  could  hear  him  speak — 

Oh,  how  you  played  passing  weak 
Leaning  there  snug  to  his  drunken  cheek! 

Or  was  I  above  your  years, 

As  old  again? 
Am  I  therefore  in  arrears 

With  other  men? 
Is  it  not  enough 

That  I  can  love? 
Or  am  I  to  lose  my  mate 

For  being  late, 
And  I  know  nothing  is  lost 

'Though  all  my  purpose  of  life  be  crossed? 


Is  love  a  thing  of  youth, 

Of  steel  eye,  sword  tooth. 


714  In  an  Inn 

Of  blood-rush,  sorghum  Up 

Meant  to  get  the  lush  and  drip, 

Let  the  sweet  August  go 

For  rubbish  or  stub-undertoe? 


Love  is  a  heart  to  endure, 

Is  the  one  thing  sure 
Above  needle-eye  life,  sees 

Tingling  lip  is  a  trick  to  please 
Only  tingling  lip 

Which  tries  to  give  the  soul  the  slip. 
While  one  day  the  lip  is  gone, 

But  never  this  heart  it  hung  upon — 
So  know  one  thing  in  the  world — this : 

Love  looks  for  love,  truth  of  it  is. 
Comes  to  stay  and  claim — which  is  why 

I  '11  have  you,  my  lady,  by  and  by. 

Stick  you  to  your  man. 

To  his  bumper-cheek; 
He  will  not  block  your  plan. 

He  will  prove  less  than  man; 
He  will  not  rise  to  speak 

To  deal  you  thought,  but  only  to  command 
By  his  prison-hand, 

While  you  will  look  up  to  love, 
Count  the  brute  in  him  man  enough. 


Pretty  birds  whistle, 

Velvet  dangles  in  each  thistle, 
Your  white  rock  trunks  at  the  beach 

Half  out  of  reach, 


In  an  Inn  7^5 

Sky-hawk  levels  his  telescope-eye 

Where  the  pin-fish  fly 
Like  shooting  stars  among  waves — 

How  they  grow  in  their  graves! 

I  wander  about  this  lawn 

You  leaped  upon, 
Where  you  stooped  to  pick 

Thorn-flowers  or  lily-stick, 
While  even  now  as  I  pass, 

Lo,  your  footprints  in  the  grass 
As  if  for  sign  to  me  so  true 

To  pluck  up  heart  and  follow  you. 

In  spite  of  all  I  have  said, 

Which  you  will  have  read, ; 
My  jealousy  and  hungry  love 

And  palpitating  head, 
I  have  this,  evermore,  to  say, 

My  word  to  you  be  pledge  enough: 
You  took  my  heart  with  you  away. 

You  left  me  nought  for  it  behind, 
Yet,  think  my  strongest  as  I  may, 

I  cannot  put  you  out  of  mind; 
So  I  take  your  lead,  I  go  your  way, 

I  gather  these  flowers  in  your  lawn, 
Grass-pink,  rose-campion, 

I  learn  the  song  of  your  wren, 
The  one  he  meant  for  you  then — 

I  bring  them  all  three  to  you, 
Song  and  flowers  and  my  heart  too. 

And  sure  as  like  has  like  to  pay, 
I  '11  have  you,  my  lady,  one  fine  day! 


ATHANASIA 

As  out  of  the  white  sky 
Into  the  blue  air 
Everyhow 
Everywhere 
Beauty  is  there 
Never  to  die, 
So  I  see  now 
How  somehow, 
Somewhere 
My  Rosalie  is  there 
In  the  white  blue  air. 

As  out  of  the  dead  moon 

Is  eternal  June, 

Yellow  field, 

Mellow  yield 

Of  Beauty  so 

Of  orange  glow. 

So  is  this  clear: 

Beauty  is  near. 
Is  plain, 
As  there  in  the  rare  domain 
I  see  my  Rosalie  again. 

Life  is  in  the  rough, 
Is  cough  and  cuff, 
716 


Athanasia  717 

Yet  just  around 

In  sky  and  ground 

Is  Beauty  spread 

Which  survives 

Loves  and  lives 

And  dead — • 
Out  in  Orion-air 
All  the  wild  worlds  are  fair 
To  him  who  is  not  of  them  there. 

Power  comes  and  goes, 
Changes  teeth  and  toes, 

While  just  about 
Are  seen 

Roan  and  green 

And  silver  pout 

To  weary  never. 

Here  forever — 
Sky  riots  to  strike  a  blow 
Which  paints  the  rainfall-bow 
All  Beauty  forever  so. 

Endurance,  hard  duty, 
Power  first,  then  Beauty : 

First  is  the  shock 

Of  fire  and  rock; 

Then  is  the  thud 

Of  silver  rain         , 

Against  the  mud, 
And  then 

The  violet  again 
For  supersensuous  fair, 
Like  my  Rosalie  in  the  white  blue  air. 


7i8  Athanasia 

Am  I  not  for  more 
Than  the  God-gifted  shore 
Of  all  the  stars 
From  Pictor  to  Mars, 
More  than  sand 
Or  a  headlight 
Of  land, 
Since  now  I  see 
What  makes  in  me 
For  Beauty  like  as  out  there 
In  the  white  blue  air 

To  stay  and  stand 
When  sea  and  land 

Are  gone? 
Now  is  night, 
Now  is  morn, 
Ebony  night, 
Lemon  dawn, 

And  she, 
My  Rosalie, 
Soul-fashioned,  zenith-fair 
In  the  white  blue  air. 


PLUCK-LUCK 

Do  your  best, 
Never  mind  God 
Or  Hell  and  the  rest! 
A  wink  and  nod 
Of  an  angle-rod 
Make  as  much, 
Their  way, 
As  a  God  could  play. 
As  a  star 
Over  far 

Could  sight  or  touch, 
Just  as  much. 

This  I  knew 
Well  as  you 
For  a  law 
Among  men 
Worth  fighting  for, 
As  when 
One  day  I  stood 
In  the  underwood 
By  my  pasture-trees, 
Queried  a  thought 
If  love  were  not 
Just  a  will  to  please, 
719 


'20  Pluck-Luck 

A  thing  to  do, 

A  word  to  say, 

If  false  or  true, 

To  make  my  way 

To  her  heart — 

As  the  world  would  say, 

By  a  lover's  art — 

As  if  I  must  dare 

To  win  the  race 

And  my  brother  there 

Of  the  handsome  face, 

The  conquering  air. 

Should  I  lie 
Or  whisper  truth, 
Take  her  by  a  sigh 
Or  by  my  youth 
Of  honest  dealing, 
No  trick  nor  stealing? 
Enough  said — 
I  fashioned 
Truth  is  passioned 
White  and  red, 
Has  a  lip  and  shin, 
Is  sure  to  win. 

The  moon  was  set 
Like  an  orange  eye 
For  an  amulet 
In  one  purple  sky, 
While  'round  it 
Danced  a  dozen  stars 
Glad  as  a  Lars 


Pluck-Luck 


721 


That  they  had  found  it. 

My  way  I  took 

To  her  gate, 

A  path  that  lay 

By  our  otter-brook — 

The  hour  was  late 

Now  first  I  saw 

My  rival  mate 

In  her  corridor 

Of  garden-vetch, 

Saw  him  straight  and  stretch 

Like  a  chancellor, 

Saw  him  go 

As  he  took 

His  long  look 

At  her  so 

From  the  brook 

One  would  think 

He  held  his  breath 

To  outwit  death 

At  the  brink 

Of  despair 

To  leave  her  there 

For  me  if  I  came 

With  my  aftergame, 

And  she  so  fair 

He  rather  would  lose 

All  his  soul  could  choose 

Than  leave  her  there 

As  I  came, 
New  night 
Overhead, 


46 


72  2  Pluck- Luck 

Gold  and  red, 
Like  the  flight 
Of  a  flame, 
And  she  just  there 
In  her  garden-chair 
Of  archangel  flowers 
Under  poppy  bowers 
To  wait, 
Long  and  late, 

Til  I  came! 
And  I  knew 
That  my  claim 
Was  as  true 
As  was  his, 
'Though  I  miss 
What  he  had, 
The  look  of  a  lad. 
The  mould  of  a  man 
On  your  model-plan 
To  enrapture, 
To  capture, 

^  So  I  said: 

She  shall  see 
There  's  value  in  me 
More  than  red 
In  the  lip. 
More  than  head, 
More  than  hip, 
She  shall  know 
I  can  do 
What  is  true, 
Con  or  pro, 
Luck  or  no. 


Pluck-Luck  723 

Could  I  share 
Just  the  air 
That  lay  at  her  lip, 
Just  a  sip 
Ere  I  spoke, 
I  should  pipe 
'As  the  wren 
At  his  reed  again 
When  he  woke, 
Til  she  heard, 
Til  she  drank 
Every  word. 

Through  nep 
Light  of  step 
Was  my  way 
To  the  flowers 
Where  she  lay 
In  her  bowers — 
Like  a  bee 
I  was  there 
On  the  wing 
Just  to  see 
And  to  sing 
And  to  share 

Of  the  sweet 

New  soul  which  was  there 

At  my  feet: 

"I  am  not," 

So  I  said, 

"City  thought, 

Fashion  read; 

I  am  not 

Round  of  mould. 


724  Pluck-Luck 

Beauty  wrought, 
Cloth  of  gold 
To  behold, 

"With  a  grace 
Of  the  face, 
With  a  sigh 
For  a  lie, 
A  run-about  play 
Of  the  tongue 
For  a  way 
To  look  young, 
Pretty  shape, 
Mighty  charm 
To  the  arm 
And  the  nape. 

"Yet  I  'm  this, 
I  am  true 
Mighty  love 
Deep  as  his 
And  for  you; 
Just  above 
Arc  the  stars, 
Just  below 
Is  a  breath, 
And  I  know 
Truth  jars 
Unto  death; 

"Yet  I  know 
I  am  true 
As  a  glow 
Of  the  dew; 


Pluck-Luck  725 

About  and  above 

Life  is  small 

Matched  with  my  love 

Which  is  all, 

Which  is  you — 

My  stars  they  are  there, 

My  heaven  it  is  fair, 

Which  is  you. 

"Yet  is  he    ' 
Above  me 
In  the  straight 
Handsome  play 
Of  his  gait, 
In  the  fain 
Wonder-way 
Of  his  brain, 
In  the  choice 
Velvet  tune 
Of  his  voice 
New  as  June. 

"So  his  love, 
Which  is  true, 
Love  of  you. 
Is  enough 

To  bring  me  to  this: 
I  would  not  stay 
His  hand  for  a  day; 
What  I  gain  or  miss 
Is  nothing  to  me — 
Soul  hungers  to  be, 
To  love 
For  nothing  above, 


726  Pluck-Luck 

"For  nothing  to  gain, 
Only  to  do 
What  is  plain 
Highest  true 
Just  for  you. 
Take  him  so ! 
Let  me  pass 
As  a  face 
In  a  glass 
Out  of  place — 
Better  so 
That  I  go, 

"That  I  love 

And  you  know 

What  it  cost, 

What  I  lost 

In  the  game 

Which  is  love 

When  it  came 

To  this  end: 

I  gave  up 

A  friend  for  a  friend 

To  save  up 

My  love  to  the  end; 

"I  gave  him 

To  you  ' 

To  save  him 

From  loss; 

I  bear  the  new 

Whole  weight  of  my  cross, 

Which  I  must. 

Which  I  trust, 


Pluck-Luck 


727 


All  for  you. 
There  's  the  test, 
There  's  the  best 
Of  me  too, 

"Shall  I  not 
Make  the  most    . 
Of  my  lot, 
Play  host 
And  not  guest. 
Do  my  most, 
Do  my  best, 
Nor  complain 
Of  my  loss 
Nor  refrain 
From  my  cross 
Or  my  chain? 

"Is  the  best 
I  may  do 
Not  the  blest 
Of  me  too? 
Is  my  first 
Highest  thought 
To  be  curst. 
Counted  worst. 
Counted  nought, 
If  the  gain 
Of  a  gain 
Be  not  plain? 

"If  I  do 

What  in  me 
And  for  you, 
You  '11  agree, 


728  Pluck-Luck 

Is  all  true, 
Is  all  kind, 
Is  all  great, 
Shall  I  mind 
Of  my  fate, 
Shall  I  fear 
Luck  is  late 
Loss  is  near?" 

Night  was  warm 
In  its  storm 
Of  the  stars; 
Tulip-bars, 
Pimpernels, 
Little  bells. 
Purple  bells 
At  her  feet 
Darted  out 
Wink  and  pout 
To  entreat, 
Wild  and  sweet. 

There  she  lay 
Just  to  prink 
Like  a  bee 
In  a  pink 
Full  of  play. 
Looked  at  me 
Half  to  see, 
Half  to  think. 
Then  to  say : 
,         "Not  of  him 
Had  I  thought 
With  his  trim 


Pluck-Luck  729 

"Look  and  prim, 
Handsome- wrought 
Mighty  brow 
Of  brain-play, 
Pretty  bow, 
Happy  way. 
Nor  his  youth — 
Rather  truth, 
Rather  strength. 
Rather  strife 
Than  mere  length 
Of  a  life. 

"  Than  mere  power 
To  make  rout, 
To  win  out 
In  an  hour" — 
And  right  there 
Came  her  look 
Like  a  new 
Open  book 
To  me  there, 
As  so  too 
Came  her  touch. 
No  hand  like  it  such 

For  so  fair, 
For  so  true 
As  she  drew 
Me  her  way, 
Looked  me  through 
Her  sweet  way. 
Bade  me  stay, 
Bade  me  take 


730  Pluck-Luck 

A  pink  rose 
For  her  sake — 
And  right  there 
In  the  fair 

Spotted  night 
Was  my  rose 
Which  I  chose, 
Which  I  took 
In  the  bright 
Solemn  look 
Of  the  skies, 
By  the  neap 
Solemn  brook 
For  that  deep 
Solemn  look 
In  her  eyes. 

For  that  soul 
And  the  whole 
Of  her  heart, 
And  her  lack 
Of  an  art. 
So  I  state, 
Looking  back 
To  that  day. 
It  will  pay 
To  be  great. 
To  be  true, 
To  be  you, 

To  do  well. 
Do  your  best 
In  the  clod. 
As  for  God, 


Pluck-Luck  731 

As  for  Hell 
And  the  rest, 
Better  you 
To  be  great, 
Make  your  fate, 
Better  you 
To  be  true, 
Do  your  best. 


BRILLA 

There  leans  a  book 

Over  my  shelf — 

Stop,  have  a  look, 

The  book  is  myself. 

For  I  wrote  it  and  I  know 

How  the  letters  trip  and  go. 

How  they  followed  my  elbow-blow. 

There  swings  my  tree 

Against  the  storm — 

I  gave  it  knee 

And  peak  and  form 

By  my  way  I  fashioned  it 

From  the  root  and  single  spit, 

So  my  tree  and  soul  are  perfect  fit. 

This  is  my  chip 

Of  blazing  stone — 

I  gave  it  lip 

And  plume  and  zone 

To  dartle,  by  which  I  know 

'T  is  all  as  I  would  be,  and  so 

I  watch  it  steal  Orion's  glow. 

Here  is  one  box 
Of  rainbow  flowers. 
Summits  of  phlox 
Like  country  showers 
732 


Brilla  733 


Of  color,  and  they  come  to  be 
Flame  and  crock  and  velvety 
To  match  the  very  soul  in  me. 

One  blue  clear  sky 

Halts  overhead; 

One  blue  clear  eye 

Will  turn  it  red 

And  round,  so  there  comes  to  be 

Myself  out  there  I  come  to  see, 

All  immenses  but  part  of  me. 

Comet  may  sweep 

Across  my  sky 

To  take  the  leap 

Of  eternity 

And  I  have  it,  for  the  path  is  true, 

I  breathe  it,  for  my  sky  is  blue, 

I  am  it,  for  I  leap  there  too. 

Overhead 

The  dew  is  ripe. 

Is  steel  or  red. 

Is  oxeye-stripe ; 

My  peabody  whistles  between  leaves. 

Underneath  the  wine-vine  weaves — 

Oh,  how  my  heart  gallops  and  heaves 

As  just  inside 

The  prison  air. 

Hoping  to  hide. 

Yet  waiting  me  there 

Is  Brilla — she  knows  my  way 

Of  drinking  at  each  fountain-day, 

Of  playing  as  the  tune-birds  play, 


734  Brilla 

So  comes  to  me 

Out  of  her  net 

Of  briony 

And  mignonette, 

Out  of  her  flock  of  laughing  swallows, 

Spikenard  nooks,  talking  hollows — 

Oh,  how  the  moon  steps  down  and  follows 

After  her  there 

To  light  her  way 

By  cunning  care 

To  where  I  play 

My  song  between  the  willows 

When  the  grasses  bend  in  billows 

Where  this  moon-wind  stops  and  pillows. 

To  see  her  now 

Between  her  stalks 

Of  laurel-bough 

And  holly-hocks 

You  would  think  she  meant  to  be 

Herself  just,  all  apart  from  me, 

With  her  toss  and  song  of  divinity. 

Yet  am  I  there 

Fast  in  her  heart 

To  claim  my  share. 

To  play  my  part 

Of  part  of  her  evermore  soul, 

For  she  is  more  than  brow  or  jolc. 

More  than  the  roundabout  blazing  whole. 

This  is  my  night 
Of  summer  power, 
Each  world  is  bright, 
Each  little  flower 


Brilla  735 

Puts  a  hand  up  so  I  may  see 
This  earth  has  more  to  offer  me 
Than  plunket  or  pot-herb-sap  or  glee, 

To  wit,  the  thing 

I  tie  to  most, 

This  towering 

Of  thought  and  ghost 

To  see  how  Beauty  holds  the  palm, 

So  I  climb  by  giant  arm 

To  capture  the  unseen  cheek  and  charm, 

The  which  is  soul, 

Beyond  her  too, 

More  than  the  whole 

Deep  dome  of  blue 

I  go  to,  while  I  look  to  see 

Worlds  upon  worlds  there  lavishly, 

Yet  all  the  smallest  part  of  me. 

This  is  her  flower, 

There  is  her  bird, 

They  take  an  hour 

To  be  seen  and  heard 

As  we  do — how  well  they  show 

Beauty  is  the  way  to  go, 

Beauty  is  soul  incognito. 

B  clamour  flower 

I  take  and  give; 

Now  is  our  hour 

To  love  and  live 

And  we  there  in  Muscatel  vine, 

She  like  the  swanflower  true  and  fine 

And  all  loftiness  and  all  mine. 


736  Brilla 

'T  is  so  I  hold 

To  her  tiny  hand, 

Her  lock  of  gold, 

Her  lip  of  sand 

To  fasten  to  what  is  more  worth 

Than  these  trinkets  of  time  and  earth, 

Her  thought  and  heart  beyond  any  girth, 

As  sky  is  too, 

While  so  I  know 

Our  way  is  true, 

The  way  we  go 

To  get  together  in  soul  and  heart 

In  another  day,  by  a  soulfuUer  art, 

No  more  this  clay  to  hold  us  apart. 

Under  this  tree, 

Both  she  and  I, 

To  love,  to  be, 

To  dream,  to  die. 

High  up  over  hope  or  fear 

To  strike  for  what  is  true  and  peer, 

And  so  the  language  of  death  is  clear. 


BY  LOVE 

An  attach^e  of  supremity-ground, 

A  dictator, 
As  ever  was  found 

In  kilts  above  ground 
For  curator, 

Was  the  man  of  the  place,  was  this  man 
Of  great  crown-buttons,  with  scarce  more  than 

The  look  of  a  lynx  in  his  night-light  span. 

Unthinkable  old. 

So  my  story  is, 
Of  such  a  king 

Over  Salamis 
To  strike  amiss 

By  his  reckoning, 
As  all  the  world,  you  may  take  my  word. 

Never  before  or  since  has  heard 
Since  the  hearts  of  men  by  their  lot  were  stirred. 

He  was  young,  took  the  king-look  through, 

Each  eye  like  a  knot 
Looked  split  in  two, 

Half  umber,  half  blue 
To  hide  his  plot. 

So  only  the  devil  himself  could  tell, 
By  measuring  up  the  parallel, 

How  much  was  man  in  him,  how  much  was  hell. 
47  737 


738  By  Love 

Ultimate  despot  he  grew  to  the  core: 

"Now  is  a  king 
For  you  to  adore, 

Whim  and  implore," 
Was  his  sermoning. 

For  so  he  kept  his  people  under, 
Kept  them  too  stupid  to  stay  his  blunder — 

That  he  was  hated  is  any  wonder? 

Not  more  should  his  people  know  than  he  knew, 

Should  keep  their  place, 
Keep  well  perdue. 

Well  under  him  too 
To  court  his  grace. 

As  so  he  shaped  them  little  of  mind 
Til  slaves  they  grew  and  were  all  inclined 

To  put  every  independence  behind. 

What  a  tax  he  put,  and  they  gave  their  gold! 

So  he  kept  them  poor, 
So  kept  his  hold, 

As  the  tale  is  told. 
Made  his  kingdom  sure, 

As  he  thought,  by  his  power  over  all, 
His  people  scarce  more  than  talking  doll — 

So  was  the  kingliness  in  him  small. 

Young  he  was,  and  so  wild  at  the  feast 

Men  thought  him  mad, 
Or  that  wanton  at  least 

As  any  beast 
By  his  way  he  had 

Of  holding  to  all  was  prodigal. 
Of  holding  such  drunken  carnival 

As  to  full  the  brute  in  him.  pit  and  caul. 


By  Love  739 

Up  at  his  hill-top  his  palace  stood, 

Poked  over  the  brow 
Like  a  woman's  hood 

In  wild  olive  snood, 
So  all  should  see  how 

He  could  perch  up  above  men  in  air, 
Could  make  his  home  like  the  heavens  are  fair 

To  spin  his  spider-life  out,  nor  a  care. 

Up  at  the  castle  each  night  was  afire 

With  crown-jewel  blaze, 
With  new  wild  desire 

To  reach  lower,  higher 
Than  eye  could  gaze. 

To  glut  his  gluttonous  lip, 
Let  the  bloodhounds  of  carnival  slip, 

Unload  a  nation  to  stuff  his  kip. 

Yet  never  he  loved!     His  time  was  not  yet, 

So  his  heart  stood  cold ! 
Soul  is  to  net 

Out  of  fire  and  jet 
And  hunger  and  gold ! 

Love  is  to  come  like  a  ring  of  sun 
To  tempt  the  aloe-blossom  to  run 

A  path  above  earth,  and  the  two  are  one. 

King  must  stroll  as  men  do  to  take 

A  hand  at  the  flowers, 
A  look  at  the  drake 

In  his  meadow-lake, 
To  idle  the  hours — 

So  he  is  ofl  to  his  lily-brook. 
There  to  have  a  leap  and  a  look 

To  see  how  this  world  is  one  fashion-book. 


740  By  Love 

Right  as  he  comes  to  the  opposite  side 

Of  his  talking  brook 
Where  bluefins  hide, 

Where  maples  are  dyed 
Like  a  noble  duke, 

Face  to  face  to  him  there  she  stood, 
A  maid  like  a  Paradise-bird  in  a  wood, 

Like  the  very  lilies  are  fine  and  trued. 

Never  he  knew  of  such  Beauty  before 

In  the  times  of  men, 
Of  such  smile  as  she  wore, 

Of  such  soul  in  store. 
Her  laugh  like  the  note  of  a  wren 

Once  he  ripples  his  song 
Where  clouds  are  curled 

In  between  skies  which  are  coral  and  pearled, 
As  if  he  came  from  another  world. 

His  heart  is  lost  as  the  dew  is  gone 

In  one  lofty  sun ! 
Never  before  such  Beauty  shone 

For  king  to  feast  upon 
Since  thought  begun ! 

To  speak  his  soul  all  suns  above 
Or  tongues  below  counted  not  enough — 

All  a  king  could  do  was  to  say — I  love! 

"Dear  Sire,"  she  answered,  "there  's  the  one  word, 

So  my  people  say, 
Never  was  heard 

From  your  lip,  nor  stirred 
Your  heart  in  your  day! 

To  think  that  such  fortune  should  fall  to  me 
To  hear  it  first,  or  that  I  should  be 

The  woman  to  lead  you  to  love  and  see! 


By  Love  741 

"Only  a  peasant  girl,  as  you  know, 

And  you  a  king 
To  have  the  world  go 

As  you  want  it,  so 
I  flinch  at  the  thing 

To  think  how  the  world  bows  down  to  you, 
To  think  how  small  I  am  in  your  view, 

Then  to  think  of  this — I  love  you  too! 

"Yet  are  we  parted — this  brook  between 

To  hold  us  apart. 
Lilies  set  in  evergreen 

Lie  there  to  intervene; 
They  ply  their  art 

And  we  may  not  nip  them  in  the  root — 
Lilies  are  not  to  hawk  and  loot, 

To  stand  against  the  romp  of  the  brute. 

"There  are  my  people,  my  lilies  too, 

To  stand  between  us ! 
How  their  lips  are  blue 

Or  whited  through, 
Their  look  to  wean  us 

From  any  love  we  could  have  in  view 
Like  your  love  of  me,  my  love  of  you. 

Save  that  we  take  them  to  heart  with  us  too! 

"See  they  are  people  like  me  and  you. 

Have  hands  and  feet 
And  dimple  and  thew. 

Have  great  hearts  too; 
Freedom  is  sweet 

To  them  as  freedom  is  sweet  to  you 
To  think  and  feel  and  speak  and  do — 

If  you  love  me,  oh,  love  my  people  too! 


742  By  Love 

"Give  them  what  you  have  power  to  give, 

Their  right  to  be  free, 
Their  right  to  Hve 

Above  *  but'  or  '  if, ' 
Their  right  to  be 

Each  one  his  own  great  self  and  king, 
Loftiness  just  for  love  of  the  thing, 

No  more  to  crawl  to  your  club  and  sting. 

"Give  them  of  the  spirit  of  things  to  drink, 

Of  the  wild  white  air 
Of  freedom  to  think 

To  the  outer  brink, 
Greatness  to  dare, 

Mightiness  to  strike  to  do 
Noblier,  if  it  be,  than  you — 

If  you  love  me,  oh,  love  m}^  people  too! 

"So  shall  they  love  you  too  in  the  end. 

That  you  can  know! 
On  friend  for  friend 

You  may  depend, 
For  soul  is  so; 

So  take  my  word  to  your  heart  for  true: 
My  people  are  one  in  the  heart  with  you — 

Love  them  and  they  shall  love  you  tool 

"We  are  as  one,  my  people  and  I, 

Nor  meant  to  part 
More  than  our  sky 

And  its  redded  dye — 
One  soul,  one  heart; 

So  here  is  my  truest  word  to  you 
As  my  heart  is  yours  and  my  soul  is  true: 

Would  you  love  me,  you  shall  love  them  too. 


By  Love  743 


There  is  my  strong  man  pinned  like  a  leaf 

To  its  olive  branch! 
A  maid  for  chief 

And  the  words  are  brief 
And  the  love  is  staunch! 

"Take  her,"  his  soul  says,  "for  this  is  love; 
Pay  the  price,  that  is  never  enough; 

Take  her  people  too — they  arc  worth  your  love. 

What  steel  cold  sword  in  his  eye  is  gone! 

Comes  another  man 
Than  was  counted  on 

When  he  was  born; 
Comes  the  larger  plan 

Than  to  monarchize  by  kick  and  blow, 
His  people  under  thumb  and  toe — 

Love  has  him — nature  meant  it  so. 

Now  in  his  eyes  is  her  image  set; 

He  has  her  in  arms 
For  queen  and  pet 

And  coronet, 
One  freshet  of  charms ! 

In  his  eyes  at  any  hour  is  seen 
Her  soul  there  where  the  brute  had  been — 

Love  is  his  kingdom  and  spirit-queen. 

Down  in  her  eyes,  which  are  perfect  blue 

For  forget-me-not, 
Is  his  image  too 

As  his  soul  is  true 
Beyond  kink  or  plot, 

While  'round  them  gathers  the  evening  dew 
In  moonrise  and  the  drops  are  blue — 

See  how  their  people  are  'round  them  too ! 


744  By  Love 

What  tall  strong  man  in  his  giant-make, 

And  she  so  small 
As  to  hang  to  his  neck 

Like  an  emerald-speck ! 
How  love  is  all ! 

How  love  is  all  in  the  world  there  is 
Frees  men,  yet  lets  them  not  slip  amiss! 

What  is  there  shall  govern  a  world  like  this? 


ALIOTH 

Hold  to  your  star,  the  bright  best  in  you, 
Worth  more  than  all  the  rest  in  you; 
Count  not  the  magnitude  of  it  nor  sheen, 
— Stars  dip  deepest  which  are  not  seen — 
Just  a  light  now  and  then 
To  snuff  out,  flash  up  again. 
Little  scintillations  of  men 
To  show  you  your  star  is  there 
Somewhere 
In  the  deep  tall  air. 

You  yourself  just,  never  another. 

Be  he  soul-fashioned  and  best  brother, 

You  to  be  you,  there  's  your  trick 

To  master  monk  and  candlestick. 

Your  star  for  you,  his  for  him 

With  his  bob-squat  maudlin  altar- whim. 

Beggar-lip, 
You  to  seize  at  your  star, 

Near  or  far. 
Sweep  your  sky  by  the  eagle-dip. 

Your  star  first,  then  next 
This  heavenly-body  text: 
In  the  wide  sky  there  's  not  a  sun 
Steals  his  fire  from  another  one, 
745 


746  Alioth 

Nor  looks  for  what  of  it  or  why 
He  punctures  an  empty  sky, 
Dilates  his  clean  gold-axle  eye, 
Save  the  Beauty  of  it,  fair 

As  the  glassy  air 

Forever  there. 

Hold  to  your  star,  there  's  the  thing 
Will  not  wince  nor  pray  nor  cling 
To  Power,  which  is  anenst  it — 
Power  is  there  and  you  against  it 
To  be  whipped  into  shape  and  size 
By  the  thunder-stroke  skies 

To  learn  to  rise — 
Power  to  crush  you  in  the  shut, 
Like  as  you  crush  a  nut 

To  get  the  gut; 

Power  about  you  for  you  to  strike 
Against  it  God-fashion-like 
For  fear  of  nothing — what  loss 
Counts  against  one  virtue-cross? 
Beauty  is  Power, 
Power  is  Beauty — 
Hard  endurance,  harder  duty 
To  ripen  a  man  that  he  leap 
Into  the  star-pointed  deep 
Blossom-like,  evening-fair 

As  the  worlded  air. 

Did  she  not  so,  she  who  was  the  whole 
Bright  heart  in  me  and  striving  soul 
Who  gave  me  a  world  to  know  it 
Was  meant  that  I  should  outgrow  it 


Alioth  747 

So  as  one  day  to  break  my  shell 
To  see  for  sure  how  all  is  well 
Above  the  smallness  that  things  seem ; 
How,  'spite  of  such  little  as  I  see, 
There  *s  more  next  close  in  just  about  me 
Beyond  all  human  dream? 

Get  you  up  to  what  you  are, 

Like  yonder  patient  star 

In  crimson  wings  and  marigold, 

Never  less,  never  old. 

Out  of  reach  of  earth 

And  death  and  birth — 
One  winged  yonder  star. 
Iris-eyed,  heavenly-far 
Burning  in  its  ashes  to  rise 

Phenix  of  the  skies! 


MIDFIELD  THOUGHTS 

There  was  I  by  my  flag-root  ditch 
Right  at  the  dawning 
Of  one  mighty  morning 
I  leaned  against  my  round  striped  elm, 
One  which  fetched  a  forward  pitch 
Like  a  sailor  at  the  helm, 
As  if  to  spread  for  me  an  awning 
To  dash  the  sun  off — overhead 
Cheeped  the  piefinch,  underneath 
Pill-beetles  began  to  breathe, 
Witch-chicks  thimbled  the  tops  of  trees, 
Hops  were  in  bell,  each  merlin  was  up, 
Each  poppy  with  copper  cup 
Took  each  moment  to  scoop  the  breeze. — 
What  counts  a  morning  of  sun, 
An  evening  of  dark. 
An  hour  begun 
On  the  wings  of  a  lark, 

And  she  gone, 

My  Rosalie  gone 

To  not  return, 
'Though  winds  mourn,  'though  skylids  burn? 

Just  about  me  in  my  field 

Was  dew-spatter,  lily-yield; 
748 


Midfield  Thoughts  749 

There  tumbled  among  the  brake 

My  single  carroty  finch 
To  strike  his  straight  blow  at  a  chinch 

Before  he  straightened  to  undertake 
His  mountain-song  to  surprise 
The  gold-eyed  silent  skies. 
Thistle-butterfly  and  painted  lady 

Kept  together  as  if  mated, 
Sun-trout  began  to  look  sun-sated, 

Took  a  new  pond-hole  to  be  shady, 
As  there  in  my  wide  pasture-field. 

There  where  spirits  come  to  be  healed, 
I  only  thought,  as  I  thought: 

What  is  all  of  it,  what  not, 
Grass  that  is  ripe  and  well  meant. 

Sun-blown  jumping  merriment, 
How  could  they  make  me  content 
And  she  gone, 
]\Iy  Rosalie  gone 
Out  of  the  dark. 
Out  of  the  dawn? — 
Oh,  for  the  note  of  a  lark, 
Oh,  for  the  song  I  lack 
To  call  her  back! 


Choke-cherry, 

Tapered  balsam, 

Poke-berry 

And  the  small  sum 

Of  pretty  bee-ways 

For  little  relays 

Of  honey-dew  moly, 

Heaven  wholly 


750  Midfield  Thoughts 

To  glut  the  wind 

Til  every  blossom  has  been  thinned — 

Song-robins  mell-mellow, 

Sand-dunes  half  yellow, 

My  Pequot  Indian  mound, 

A  generation  under  ground 

And  I  top. 

Not  a  breath  to  stop — 

All  Beauty  next  about 

To  find,  yet  past  all  finding  out. 

There  was  my  cat-call  bird 

Straight  over  his  mud-bottom  ling. 
One  lynx-eyed  note  in  every  word 

Til  the  wild  wood-wild  begun  to  ring- 
So  what  mattered  if  life 

Were  battered  by  strife, 
What  counted  trouble 

More  than  a  bubble, 
Save  that  she  was  not  there, 

My  Rosalie,  kind  and  fair 
As  the  silverly  air? 

Gone — and  whatever  I  joy  to  see, 
The  world  is  no  more  the  world  to  me. 


But  hark,  there  's  my  robin-song 

Piped  in  the  pasture  yonder! 
Hark  to  each  bull-bell  gong 

In  sea-grass,  chimes  disjointed 
'Though  soulsome,  eagle-pointed 

Til  I  am  brought  to  ponder 
How  in  among  graves  and  barrows 

Floats  the  happy  chat  of  sparrows — 


Midfield  Thoughts  75i 

Cunning  in  a  spider's  net 

Which  catches  sun  and  thunder-wet 
To  stitch  up  gold  and  green  and  jet 

For  Beauty  for  no  matching  yet — 
Or  there  over  the  boulder-wall 

Meadows  in  meadow-sweet — there's  the  call 
Of  one  tufted  titmouse,  how  he  will  pause 

Between  songs,  as  if  for  your  applause! — - 
There,  too,  is  the  king-blue  sky 

Departing  always,  never  to  die. 
But  always  and  always  the  same  blue  sky — 

So  I  said  to  me.  Was  not  she 
Part  of  the  one  eternity 

Of  Beauty  I  see  about, 
Past  finding,  past  all  dying  out? 

'Round  me  coils  my  brook 

To  go  its  way 

Out  into  the  bay 

Far  off  where  I  look 
As  I  say: 
Out  in  their  mighty  host 
Of  waters  my  brook  is  lost, 
While  just  here  at  my  feet 
It  coils  about  me  still, 
Sun-sparkle,  picture-fill 
Of  valued  volume  complete, 
My  same  brook  here  at  my  feet 
For  always  to  coil  and  go 
And  leave  me  and  yet  stay, 
As  if  for  a  purpose  to  show 
Spirit  takes  an  endless  way 

The  same  way  so. 


GUNFLINT 

War  to  the  knife, 
Each  man  for  his  life, 
Cossack  and  Jap 
At  the  thunder-clap 
Of  belching  guns 
To  spit  them  through. 
To  flash  the  blue 
Like  a  flock  of  suns — 
Hail  to  the  chief 
And  his  beckoning 
His  men  to  come  on, 
Hail  to  his  reckoning. 
Past  belief, 
How  he  counted  on 
Columns  of  lives 
To  settle  the  thing, 
Childlings  and  wives. 
Nor  a  pity-ring 
Of  his  muffled  heart — 
Now  for  a  start, 
Now  for  the  hill 
To  smash  them  down,' 
To  riddle  and  kill, 
To  swamg  the  tov/n 
By  his  bullet-spill — 
_   752 


48 


Gunflint  753 

Now  for  a  blow 

Where  they  breathe 

Quick  and  low 

At  his  monster-thud 

And  they  swallow  their  teeth 

And  they  drink  their  blood — 

Cannon  to  kill 

And  the  field  is  red 

Of  the  blood  they  spill — 

Once  it  was  said 

They  never  knew 

Why  they  fought  and  bled — 

Think  of  it,  too, 

Of  the  thousands  dead 

To  settle  your  facts 

By  spit  and  axe, 

By  a  blow  instead 

Of  the  spirit-art 

Of  head  and  heart — 

At  it  again, 

Your  shell-shot  rain 

Of  noble  might 

To  make  things  right 

By  power  of  pain — 

Stab  at  the  heart. 

Smash  at  the  face. 

Plant  your  killing-art 

In  every  place 

To  crush  and  cower 

And  smallen  a  race, 

To  capture  power 

And  pomp  and  place — 

Strike  at  the  jaws 

Of  murder-laws, 


754  Gunflint 

Rip  out  the  ribs, 
Crush  in  the  nowl, 
Scatter  their  soul 
To  the  finger -nibs — 
Small  matter  the  boy 
In  his  April-blood 
Who  folds  his  joy 
Like  a  folded  bud — 
Nor  conscience  counts 
If  a  king  may  rise 
Nearer  the  skies 
Now  his  kingdom  mounts, 
And  there  the  Word, 
Your  sacred  law, 
That  a  king  is  lord 
Worth  fighting  for! 
Now  to  your  cuts, 
Scatter  the  field 
With  blossom-yield 
Of  fingers  and  guts — 
Do  men  count  it  odd 
They  serve  their  God 
To  worship  a  day, 
To  smirk  and  pray 
While  they  count  it  well 
To  send  the  others. 
Their  neighbor-brothers, 
The  way  of  hell? 
Cossack  and  Jap 
To  the  cannon -gap 
For  slaughter,  for  power 
To  crush  a  race 
Out  of  state  and  place 
In  its  leaf  and  flower — 


Gunflint  755 

Dragoons  and  tars, 

How  their  faces  white 

Soften  the  night 

Like  whited  stars, 

Now  they  lie  in  state 

Across  ditch  and  slate, 

Conquered  and  gone 

And  you  look  on 

At  the  hellish  work 

With  your  Christian  smirk. 

You  Powers  of  the  earth ! — 

What 's  your  worship  worth? 


THINKING  OF  PRESTON 

Over  Lantern  Hill  one  downing  sun 

Spit  fire  like  the  boom  of  an  evening  gun 

Where  winter  hung  a  last  rag 

Of  snow  for  truce  to  one  spindle-crag, 

Stone  walls  beginning  to  arm  with  thistles 

Now  the  yaffle  taps,  kildec  whistles. 

Woodruff  takes  root  to  stout 

To  cast  a  shadow  for  a  trout, 

And  all  the  swallows  are  there 

To  cotton  to  the  careful  air 

Or  to  Avery  Pond  for  its  pretty  pout. 

To  think  of  being  in  Preston 
Where  I  got  my  fine  first  lesson 
In  swamp-apples,  in  May 
And  chipmunk-cheep 

And  that  wondrous  October  pumpkin-heap 
In  each  field,  low  or  high  land. 
Which  rose  there  like  a  coral  island ! 
How  a  child  is  thinking  who  may  say. 
Who  shall  know,  from  his  small  span 
Of  earth,  his  heart-mighty  sweep 
Of  faith  and  feeling,  so  true,  so  deep, 
If  he  be  not,  i'  faith,  the  real  man? 
Eunice  knew  my  wants. 
Knew  each  field  in  my  uncle's  farm 
Of  meadow-track,  pond-hole  haunts, 
756 


Thinking  of  Preston  757 

Now  she  and  I  would  take  an  hour 

To  angle  for  a  cuckoo-flower 

Or  bluestart,  seize  at  that  silver  charm 

Of  lying,  face  down,  to  look 

For  minnows  to  twinkle  in  a  brook. 


Those  are  marvellous  days 

To  seem  so  much,  to  be  so  small — 

Pick-nothing  lightest  popinjays 

Were  we,  only  knee  and  knuckle-ways, 

Yet  they  filled  the  soul — and  soul  is  all. 

Now  look  you,  you  of  the  season-gang, 

How  you  plowed  your  way  up  the  world  to  power, 

Lip  white  as  an  alabaster  flower, 

And  died,  while  the  bell-tower  rang 

How  you  gulped  a  world  down,  swallowed  the  whole 

Into  pretty  much  just  an  empty  soul ! 

How  I  grew,  and  she  grew. 

So  soon  it  came  our  time  to  think 

Each  of  the  other,  yet  each  knew 

Of  nothing  more  than  a  pigeon- wink, 

Of  nothing  a  whit-bit  more  than  this 

That  love  in  the  world  should  come  first 

To  stop  questioning  and  stop  thirst, 

Whether  the  purpose  hit  or  miss ! 

One  would  think  love  should  wait 

For  the  full  man  to  grow  proportionate 

To  life  at  a  purpose,  purpose-great. 

Never  just  to  get  together. 

After  the  fashion  of  reeve  and  ruff, 

To  swallow  only  the  glutton-love 

Of  cluck  or  a  lemon  feather. 


75^  Thinking  of  Preston 

Eunice,  do  you  remember  how 

In  my  uncle  Nathan's  berry-field 

— What  drupes  were  there,  what  a  yield!— 

I  waited  for  you  once  in  my  bough 

Of  shagbark  to  try  to  hide, 

While  you  came  late  by  the  pasture-wall 

And  there  was  snuggled  to  my  side 

When  I  feared  you  might  not  come  at  all — 

And  then — you  know  how  two  souls  meet 

When  waiting  is  long,  footfall  sweet — 

Oh,  how  we  held  us,  heart  to  heart. 

Like  a  leaf  and  its  cheek,  not  meant  to  part— 

You  know  how  I  flew  at  those  lips 

Like  a  bee  darts  back  and  forth,  then  dips 

For  sweet — 't  is  worth  relating 

How  after  that  you  always  kept  me  waiting ! 

Or  one  evening — you  remember 

Our  first  week  in  our  first  September 

We  saw  the  moon  together — 

Oh,  how  I  watched  it  spray  your  hair 

Til  a  pheasant's  feather  dartled  there ! — 

I  was  trying  to  ask  whether 

Such  a  moon,  with  such  pale  gold  face, 

Might  not  be  one  brighter  place 

We  go  to,  once  all  is  over  here. 

When  you  drew  close  to  me,  drew 

My  arm  about  you  as  if  to  say : 

"Be  the  time  far  off  or  near, 

Whenever  you  go,  I  go  too. 

There  shall  be  no  parting-day." 

Such  another  evening  as  that 
Was  summer — we  stood  listening 


Thinking  of  Preston  759 

To  one  yellow-breasted  chat. 

One  star  in  each  cheek  of  sky  was  glistening, 

Each  blade  of  grass  speared  a  drop  of  dew 

Like  a  finger  putting  a  ring  on  for  you 

To  sprinkle  olive,  moss-pink,  blue, 

While  all  the  while  my  soul- desire 

Was  there  in  your  own  pink  lip,  and  higher, 

Your  eye  for  one  jewelful  of  fire. 

One  wild  rose-bush  lay  tangled  dense 

In  the  fingers  of  your  fence. 

Your  hand  against  the  bowers, 

One  flower  more  among  the  flowers. 

When  soon  I  saw  you — youth  needs  must 

Untwist  a  rose — draw  back  from  the  thrust 

It  gave  for  fillip  of  scorn. 

While,  now  I  drew  its  needle-brand 

Out  of  the  tiny  flower-hand, 

I  sought  to  have  you  understand 

Rose  grew  never  without  a  thorn. 


By  morning,  now  sun  was  up. 

Our  sky  looked  like  an  emptied  cup, 

Still  over  us,  but  bottom  up. 

So,  by  rights,  one  would  look  around 

To  see  stars  scattered  on  the  ground, 

When,  lo,  we  found  them,  there  they  were, 

No  question,  and  all  eyes  on  her: 

One  water-lip,  like  a  diamond-drop, 

Curled  at  the  end  of  each  plume  of  grass, 

A  whole  sun  in  it,  all  for  a  crop 

Of  stars  like  the  harvest-heaven  has! 

So  said  I :  Between  two  such  skies 

Would  you  think  love  fails,  man  ever  dies, 


760  Thinking  of  Preston 

Since,  whichever  way  you  go, 
There  's  your  galaxy  put 
Overhead,  underfoot 
For  certain,  that  you  may  know 
How,  whether  you  fall  or  rise, 
You  are  prisoner  'twixt  two  skies. 

God's  one  Preston — that  much  I  learned 

When  thought  smoldered,  heart  burned! 

Since  I  knew  you  I  've  known  many  ways, 

Put  the  cup  up,  drained  the  days. 

While,  oh,  how  I  would  now  turn  track 

To  have  my  pond-hole  and  chipmunk  back, 

And  mink-brook,  deep  because  always  black; 

My  blueling  that  dodges  and  dips 

In  front  of  two  bluebottle  lips 

As  if  afraid  the  flower,  so  like  it. 

Were  another  blueling  to  dodge  and  strike  it!- 

Wherever  I  go,  whatever  part  is 

Mine  to  take  to  beat  back  death 

Or  try  to  get  a  longer  breath, 

There,  only  just  there,  my  heart  is 

By  the  pasture-wall  and  my  shagbark  tree 

And — Eunice,  do  you  remember  me? 


EUTHANASIA 

Have  not  a  fear  of  death,  O  friend, 
Nor  think  it  an  end ! 
True,  here  is  life,  while  out  there 
Is  what  or  what  not 
Of  the  whole  vast  everywhere 
Supremely  wrought 
Where  I  see  it  crumble,  come  to  death 
For  want  of  breath, 
As  an  osmund  will  die  for  lack  of  dew, 
A  plum-leaf  bend  a  last  bow  to  you 
If  the  sun  split  it  through — 
They  need  only  dew  and  fire 
To  float  them  higher. 
While  you  there  are  other  stuff, 
And  not  enough 

Is  plum-life  your  life  to  argue  plum-death 
To  be  your  death — 

For  look  how  the  hawfinch  sits  and  taps 
Moonlight  in  twenty  laps 
Before  he  naps. 

While  high  as  he  may  see  for  springing 
Is  his  cloud  he  puts  to  ringing 
By  the  chime-bell  in  his  singing. 
Soul  perhaps. 

Then  cold  comes,  and  he  has  done 
All  he  thought  ever  or  begun. 
His  wheeling  song  about  the  sun 
761 


762  Euthanasia 

For  Nile-green  grace, 

While  you  there,  you  rise  on  his  song 

Beyond  place, 

Beyond  lute  and  love  and  scuppernong 

To  take  fancy  which  puts  soul  swinging 

Outside  finch-music  or  life  clinging 

To  where 

Is  Beauty  supersensuous  fair 

And  no  other,  while  you  know 

However  much  your  world  may  show 

Of  power  to  glut  and  body-grow, 

Soul  is  not  so! 

There  's  a  Beauty  not  of  the  world. 

Neither  diamonded  nor  pearled; 

I  see  it  when 

Losses  make  the  most  of  men: 

Or  there  it  is  when  I  see 

Life  for  such  uncertainty. 

And  you 

Bound  so  to  be  brave  and  true 

And  not  question  and  not  know 

Why  under  heaven  it  is  so 

Beyond  this,  that  you  shall  be  pastor 

Of  your  own  destiny  and  grand  master. 

You  see  it  when  the  best  you  do 

Little  profits  you, 

Or,  i'  faith,  it  may  sweep  you  under, 

While  men  look  on,  call  it  blunder. 

The  best  in  you  will  have  small  use 

Of  glut-pot  or  hunting-noose, 

Yet  the  best  is  there 

For  Beauty  supersenuous  fair. 

And  use,  too,  some  certain  other-wherc. 


Euthanasia  763 

A  supemacultim  of  Beauty 

Is  love  of  truth,  is  love  of  duty, 

While  either  may 

Put  you  under  bond  to  pay 

Your  life  for  it  and  not  know 

More  than  that  Beauty  breathed  it  so 

You  should  give  life  up  for  love  and  go. 

Once  was  a  butcher,  so  is  told, 

Grew  to  where  he  could  not  kill 

For  his  daily  gold, 

Could  not  spill 

Lambs'  blood,  could  not  strike  the  face 

And  kind  eye  and  gentle  grace. 

Could  nohow  do  it 

Nor  coax  his  bosom  half  way  to  it, 

Never  too  old 

To  learn  new  ways  of  getting  gold. 

So  took  this  to  him:     Better  I 

Cease  killing;  better  I 

Go  my  way,  give  them  their  way. 

Than  I  kill  them  in  their  fair  day; 

There  's  up  and  down  on  every  stairway, 

Gold  is  not  all, 

Since  now  one  truth  stands  manifest  : 

I  make  most  of  me  and  best 

If  I  live  so  all  the  rest. 

In  field  or  stall, 

May  have  their  life  their  way. 

Nor  I  to  rob  them  of  their  small  day. 

Thus  it  was 

Somewhat  of  him  claimed  nobler  cause 

Than  gut-growth  by  natural  order  laws, 

Till  he  should  see 


764  Euthanasia 

Man  has  of  him  more  than  he  may  be 
In  one  small  pocket  of  eternity. 


Death  comes,  while  how  to  meet  it 

Better  you  probe  than  how  to  beat  it, 

Seeing  this  that  you 

Have  more  at  heart  than  you  may  do 

Or  think  even,  fight  it  through 

As  you  will  to  gain  an  end, 

Drop  a  foe,  win  a  friend, 

For,  compass  all  you  may  long  to  reach, 

Your  whole  world,  all  they  hope  or  preach, 

Yet  is  there  more  of  you, 

Mighty  more 

Than  world-life,  a  thousand  million  score 

More  than  your  whole  thinking  too, 

To  show 

There  's  no  Heaven  where  you  would  go 

Of  which  you  would  know, 

Nothing  above  soulfullest  man 

For  which  you  would  plan, 

No  gain,  no  compensation 

For  being  great. 

For  being  conqueror  of  fate, 

A  God  in  your  own  creation. 

There  's  the  new  sphere, 

Something  otherwise  than  here. 

Yet  purposey,  not  for  pining — 

There  's  nowhere  an  ear 

Against  sky  or  sphere 

Will  catch  your  whining — 

New  purpose,  more  purpose,  new  ends, 

But  the  old  friends,  always  the  old  friends, 


Euthanasia  765 

Since  we  go  together,  you  and  I, 

Together  forever, 

Souls  meant  not  to  die. 

But  achieve,  pursue  ever 

One  landlordly  march 

To  where  there  is  an  end  never 

Through  the  blue  gold  arch 

On  and  on. 

Each  new  purpose  more  masterly  done 

As  we  reach  out  towards  the  spirit-sun. 

Who  would  wish  to  think 

Of  a  universe  with  a  brink 

And  God  there  to  say: 

"Here  's  an  end — I  've  done  my  best 

For  you  and  you,  the  thing  was  a  jest — 

I  've  had  my  day. 

Lost  my  hold,  run  my  race. 

Here  's  an  end  of  power  and  place, 

I  've  had  my  day,  I  've  had  my  day?" 

Straight  otherwise 

Are  those  enamel  eyes 

Which  puncture  the  skies 

So  you,  too,  may  get  your  sight 

Of  the  super-cosmic  might 

Of  soul 

Which  is  over  and  above  the  whole, 

And  you  one  certainest  part, 

O  gentle  heart! 

Yet  death  comes,  so  how  to  meet  it, 

And  that  way  beat  it? 

Play  pot-fly,  would  you,  to  mouse 

By  the  footfall  of  a  louse, 

To  build  a  nest 


766  Euthanasia 

To  tickle  in,  make  merry 

At  a  squill  or  winterberry, 

Nor  build  your  wide  side  up  and  best? 

How  to  meet  it 

To  not  fear  but  to  welcome-greet  it? 

There  's  one  way 

Certain  and  clear  as  any  day — • 

Not  spider-play 

To  sting  some  brother,  sap  his  heart, 

Swallow  his  country,  bowl  him  under 

The  spark  of  blunder, 

Your  trigger  and  torpedo  art — 

Not  to  school 

Brothers  to  bondage  so  you  may  rule, 

Nor  yet 

To  count  life  worth  only  power  to  get 

More  power,  more  gold, 

And  you  here  just  to  tighten  your  hold — 

Nor  yet 

To  knuckle  under  to  let  power 

Dominion  you,  J 

Bring  you  to  mince  and  cower 

At  cassock  or  cowl,  to  look  through 

Their  hat-flap  to  see  what  is  true — 

No  creed 

Save  what  you  build  yourself — there  's  need 

Of  you, 

Of  all  you  may  think  or  do 

Which  is  you — 

Man  above  priestism,  above  passions, 

Fashioned  to  fashion  his  own  fashions — 

As  if  their  pulpity  view 

Made  for  more  value  than  you,  just  you, 


Euthanasia  767 

Since  ye  are  Gods 

To  make  mighty  against  all  odds, 

Self  king  over  self  to  perfect  man — 

There  's  your  plan 

Of  fortification  against  power 

Of  God  or  man, 

That  you  may  come  to  command, 

Beyond  fear,  the  fine  other  spirit-land, 

You  your  own  God  at  your  own  right  hand. 


IMPERIALISM 
Hector 

Here  's  the  place — ^how  will  this  do 

For  luck  to  you, 
This  edge  of  the  world's  edge 
And  river-rune 
This  amber  part  of  June? 
I  pledge  you  my  pledge 
'T  is  secret  as  a  woman's  age, 

The  place  is, 
To  fight  it  out  in,  so  here  's  my  gage 
To  cross  licks  with  you — 

No  paces. 
But  hand  to  hand — 
On  guard,  then,  take  your  stand! 

AjAX 

So!  The  place  is  well — 

Not  a  wind's  whimper  to  tell 

Who  put  first  blow, 

Who  got  the  last — 

Time  is  past 
For  pretty  palaver — 

So,  then,  let  go 
768 


Imperialism  769 

Your  upper-cut  for  power 
To  settle  who  shall  have  her 

In  an  hour — 
Luck  hugs  the  best  elbow-growth 
Since  she  may  not  have  us  both. 

Hector 

Right  reason  that !     Nature's  way ! 

Two  want  her — one  gets  her  in  the  end — 

Power  settles  which — 
Rags  to  him  who  drops  a  stitch ! — 

Square  off,  defend ! 
Best  man  gets  her  for  matter  of  course, 
The  universe  is  ruled  by  force — 

A  fair  day 

For  fair  play 
And,  good  my  friend,  your  hand  to  hitch 
To  this:  he  has  her 
To  play  pigeon  or  Belshazzar 
Who  topples  't'  other  into  the  ditch! 

AjAX 

A  word — your  word 

She  shall  not  know 

We  struck  a  blow — 
A  woman's  heart  once  stirred, 

And  who  may  tell 
Which  way  't  will  jump,  whether  to  him 
Who  took  her  fancy  by  knuckle-vim, 
Or  by  pity  to  the  one  who  fell? 

Caution,  lest  he  who  wins 
Should,  by  keen  kicking,  lose  his  shins! 
49 


770  Imperialism 


She  must  not  know 
We  struck  a  blow. 

Hector 

Bah  to  that!     Syrupy  palaver! 

A  tentative  too  pale  and  flat! 

My  hand  for  this,  I  '11  not  have  her 

If  I  lose — I  for  man, 
She  to  side  as  she  chooses, 

On  the  woman-plan. 
But  she  shall  not  have  the  one  who  loses — 
Else  why  fight  for  her?     Better  some  trick 
Of  hitch-halt  to  mimic  sick 

To  catch  her  pity — 

May  do  for  you, 

From  your  feather- view, 

To  play  cockatoo — 

Neither  rough  nor  pretty! 

AjAX 

So!     Take  that,  then,  a  louis  d'or 
On  the  under- jaw. 
My  flexor-mark! — 

Hector 

And  you  that,  by  exchange. 
An  eagle  in  the  cheek  to  stop  your  bark 
At  close  range! — 

AjAX 

These  knuckles  in  your  teeth — now  reel, 
Fold  double  as  a  knotted  eel ! — 


Imperialism  771 

Hector 

Not  so!    Take  that  to  you 

For  a  cross-cut  to  split  you  through, 

Bloodhound! — you  want  skill — 

AjAX 

But  not  power,  not  will, 

As  how  d'  you  fancy  that 

For  a  death-blow  to  stagger  at? — 

Hector 

Good,  but  no  skill  to  lodge  it, 
Simple  enough  to  duck  and  dodge  it. 
But  not  so  simple  this 
Plump  under-dig  for  you  to  miss ! — 

AjAX 

Your  throat,  whelp,  till  I  pick 
The  pipes  out — 

Hector 

Scarce  yet — 't  is  not  a  loving  trick — 

The  Juneful  air  about 

Is  too  sweet  tasting  to  let  slip 

In  your  condor-grip — 

AjAX 

Slow  work,  too  crab-wise  slow 
To  pound  a  way  to  her,  blow  and  blow — 
Men  who  would  fight  for  wives 
Should  come  to  knives — 


772  Imperialism 

Hector 

Short  order,  then,  to  a  clinch, 
Death  to  him  who  yields  an  inch! — 

AjAX 

Smart  said — now  for  your  throat 
To  put  soul  afloat ! — 

Hector 

Mebbe  so — that  was  a  welt 
Below  belt, 
An  underhanded  lick, 
A  dirty  demon  trick — 

AjAX 

As  here  's  another — 
I  'm  not  hugging  you  for  brother — • 
Whip  a  knife  out — to  the  knife 
For  the  woman,  or  your  life! — 

A  Voice 

Stop — enough!     What  matters 

The  slash  or  stab? — Your  best  point, 

A  pick-axe  in  the  elbow-joint 

To  tear  each  other  to  tatters 

Were  less  than  nothing 

In  any  kind  of  soul-betrothing. 

Which  is  heart-work,  which  is  above 

Slashing  eyes  in,  teeth  out 

And  blood  about — 

They  call  it  love 

Who  know  best — I  'm  sure  the  plan 


Imperialism  773 


Points  a  gentler  kind  of  gentleman 

Than  game-cock — scarcely  recruits 

From  swashbucklers,  brutes. 

I  was  longing  for  song, 

I  was  longing  to  be  free 

An  hour  from  the  rivalry 

Of  right  and  wrong — 

Chance  took  me  to  the  river 

So  I  might  see  the  quiver 

Of  an  aspen,  of  a  river-lip 

Which  does  not  let  the  sun-cheek  slip — 

So  I  might  catch  the  sway 

And  Sun-tune  of  a  pinon-jay, 

Watch  a  piemag  pass, 

A  bee  at  a  breath  of  lemon-grass, 

Catch  his  flute  and  ellipse 

Where  he  bobs  and  sips, 

When,  right  as  I  was  swallowing  rhymes 

From  a  treeful  of  thistle-birds, 

They  carolling  like  a  stack  of  chimes, 

I  trying  to  learn  the  organ  words, 

Lo  in  the  river  there  drifted  a  drop 

Of  blood  my  way — it  seemed  to  stop, 

Changed  then  its  course  as  if  to  go  back, 

Quite  as  much  as  to  say: 

"Follow  me,  I  have  a  knack 

Of  knowing,  I  know  the  way. 

The  whence  I  came,  follow  me 

The  river  up,  you  shall  see 

The  whence  I  came,  the  where  men  pick 

Each  other's  throats  out — 't  is  true — 

Send  their  steel  teeth  to  the  quick 

For  tender  love  just — love  of  you!" 

I  saw  a  diamond- shrike  sweep 


774  Imperialism 

Sunward,  away  from  where 

Blood  fretted  the  pleasant  air, 

Into  his  unknown  deep, 

Knowing  not  of  right  or  wrong, 

Only  his  life-long  song 

And  Beauty  and  wing  he  knew, 

And  I  thought  how  it  must  be  true 

Of  soul  one  day,  the  way  he  had 

Of  not  knowing  good  or  bad. 

But  Beauty  only,  his  way  of  flying 

Starward,  where  I  see  no  dying. 

His  way  of  taking  earth 

For  what  it  is  worth, 

A  place  to  touch  just  for  springing 

Into  his  cloud  of  gold 

Where  nought  wrinkles  or  is  old. 

To  set  his  white  sky  ringing 

For  joy  just,  joy  which  pierced  his  singing. 

Women  mate  men — ah,  I  see, 

There  's  Beauty  in  a  broken  jaw, 

In  heart-hate,  in  savagery. 

Worth  coddling,  worth  loving  for. 

So  man  may  measure,  by  elbow-angle, 

His  soul-size,  since  to  wrangle 

Is  the  man  of  it  to  let  loose 

The  hell  in  him  of  lynx  and  moose 

To  mark  him  captor-captain 

Of  hearts  by  the  kind  of  force 

Heart  hurries  to,  is  so  rapt  in. 

He  my  high-chosen  one  of  course ! 

Mark  you  now  this:     By  the  whole  high  whole 

Hierarchy  of  Heaven  is  it  not  given 

To  men  to  be  greater  than  soul 

Or  to  think  of  it  even ! 


Imperialism  775 

Less  they  may  be,  most  are, 

So  you  get  brother-slaughter,  get  war, 

Get  gut-royalty,  get  the  cock-eye  vision 

Which  aims,  by  mud- weevil  precision, 

To  put  power  above  Beauty,  above  man 

To  unshape,  unskull  him,  closet  him, 

Clap  him  in  place,  posit  him 

To  one  circumference,  one  view. 

So  he  mark  toe-time  to  you  or  you — 

Wholly  because  you  think  power 

Governs  the  universe,  so  you 

Would  take  a  hand  at  it  to  govern  too, 

Nor  see  in  each  little  finger-flower. 

In  your  dew-trinkling  lotos-bower 

There  's  that  behind  which  governs  power — 

For  look  to  it  how  all  I  see 

Goes  tumbling-crumbling  eternally 

Where  worlds  fly  up,  where  a  comet  dives, 

Yet  Beauty,  only  Beauty  survives! 

There  's  the  man  of  it — my  man ! 

He  shall  be  soulfullest  soul 

To  round  up  and  complete  the  whole 

High  heart  in  him — my  man 

To  out-fashion  dagger- work,  to  know  this; 

Force  is  weakness,  there  's  not  a  right 

Was  royaled  ever  by  force  of  might — 

My  man  for  master-gentleness. 

Which  is  Beauty — how  now  are  no  scars 

Across  the  faces  of  the  stars ! 

Put  up  your  dirks — women  mate  men 

For  manliness — your  butcher-trick 

To  match  knuckles  and  elbow-pick 

Makes  not  a  point  in  ken 

Of  mightiness,  which  is  soul 


776  Imperialism 

Above  worm-work  and  the  whole 

Rough  round  of  slaughter  which  makes  not  a  part 

Of  dominion  such  as  plays 

For  more  soul  and  better  days 

And  higher  thought  and  deeper  heart. 

As  well  love  one  of  you 

As  tear  my  soul  in  two, 

Wed  the  cold  squirming  Niger, 

Crab-rat,  fang-footed  tiger! 

Oh  Beauty,  thee  just  I  sing, 

Soul  of  my  truth,  wing  of  my  wing 

To  circle  above  worlds,  beyond  lives, 

Where  only  what  is  fair  survives, 

Only  to  thy  lip  I  cling ! 


KNOW  THY  CHICK 
Father 

My  daughter?     You  want  my  daughter? 

Why,  Count,  there  she  is. 
All  her  own  Mistress-Miss, 

Yet  you  never  caught  her, 
At  her  greeting  or  adieu. 

Giving  half  a  look  to  you ! 
There  she  is,  able  to  say. 

Eager  to  have  her  own  wish  and  way ! 

You  love  her?     Ah,  so! 

But,  Count,  there  's  your  penny-look 
And  she  an  heiress — you  know 

Whichever  way  you  hide 
Your  hungry  soul  inside, 

Gold  in  a  glutton's  eye  will  show — 
So  look  alive,  have  a  care. 

Play  fox,  watch  well  how  you  set  your  snare ! 

But,  Count,  one  other  thing 

Claims  your  reckoning: 
You  are  at  your  best 

In  your  purple  crest, 
Your  braided  breast, 

Shoe-top  shine,  like  a  sleeping  river 
Glistens,  yet  shows  not  a  quiver, 

To  make  your  bright  side  manifest; 


778  Know  thy  Chick 

Yet  she  looks  deeper  in  you 

Than  your  collar-flap  view; 
One  look  pierces  clean  through 

Battalions  of  buttons — she  blows 
Your  thistledown  words  aside  like  snows 

In  a  south  wind — somewhat  more 
You  shall  muster  than  pomp  and  snore 

For  her  to  tie  to  and  adore. 

But,  Count — that  love  of  yours! 

You  understand,  of  course. 
How  love  is, 

How  it  never  aims  to  miss, 
How  one  heart  is  wholly  enough 

To  hold  its  heavenful  of  love. 
Like  as  one  drop  of  tiny  dew 

Captures  a  heavenful  of  view 

To  hold  the  picture  up  to  you — 

Well,  Count,  now  to  be  plain: 
Think  not  because  she  is  small 

There  's  no  soul  in  her  at  all! 
One  big  body  keeps  a  small  soul,     , 

Or  't'  other  way  about. 
Many  a  small  body  hoists  a  big  soul, 

To  show  you,  past  a  doubt, 

Whichever  way  you  twitch  the  name, 

Soul  and  body  are  not  the  same. 
Nor  are  tied  together,  are  not  one, 

Else  how  could  such  disparity  be  done? 
Well,  Count,  this  truth  I  charge 

You  take  account  of, 
She  has  a  spirit  which  is  large 

To  such  an  amount  of 


Know  thy  Chick  779 

Deep  feeling  for  a  friend, 

High  thinking  to  complish  an  end 
As  you  by  no  thinking  could  comprehend! 

Yester  evening  I  saw  you  prance 
About  her  as  blue-flies  dance 

For  hunger  about  a  quince 
Just  to  get  the  grab  and  mince, 

Never  a  look  to  the  opal-tints, 

For  next  I  saw  her  gentle  fan 

Brush  you  aside  like  a  puff  of  bran ! 
Why,  Count,  when  you  spoke  of  love 

Each  word  told  her  quite  enough 
To  prove  you  knew  not  the  whisper  of  love! 

There  's  your  rival — watch  him  go 
Slyly  to  her,  step-up  slow, 

As  if  he  never  cared  to  know 

If  she  loved  him  too,  for  see  him  demur, 

Scarce  able  by  a  step  to  stir 
So  mighty  is  his  love  of  her 

As  not  to  have  words  to  speak, 
While  she  will  watch  the  checks  in  his  cheek 

How  they  blink  and  caracole 
To  sign  to  her  of  his  joy  or  dole 

Like  a  cipher  of  the  soul. 

There  he  scarcely  gives  her  one  look, 

His  eyes  two  volumes  of  a  book 
She  could  read  if  once  she  saw 

What  soul  was  couched  in  each  of  them 
As  fire  hides  in  a  closeted  gem — 

She  knows  his  way  of  waiting  for 
Evening  to  come,  when  he  will  not  hide 

His  soul  he  has  or  heart  inside. 


7 So  Know  thy  Chick 

She  knows  he  will  never  speak, 

She  too  never  a  word, 
Yet  one  day  each  will  seek 

The  other  by  lip  and  cheek 
And  not  a  whisper  to  be  heard — 

Soul's  triumph — one  may  not  array 
Love  in  language,  there  's  no  way 

Great  hearts  may  tell  all  they  have  to  say 

So,  Count,  in  order  to  eke 

More  of  you  than  tongue  could  speak 
There  shall  be  soul  behind  the  cheek, 

There  shall  be  more  of  you 
Than  a  breath  of  sweet  cachou, 

Boots  and  ribbons  black  and  blue. 
Lamplight  for  an  eye, 

Sham  flight  of  a  fly. 

Shall  I  love  another  true 

If  I  have  only  myself  in  view? 
Much  you  shall  think  of  to  do 

To  marshal  paramount  love  in  you. 
Look  alive,  have  a  care 

For  what  is  noblest  in  you  for  fair ! — 
There  is  love  between  those  two, 

Hence  I  see  no  place  for  you! 

Count 

From  your  point  of  view 

I  should  think  as  you; 
Yet  you  lack  a  little  knowing 

Would  give  you  a  better  showing 


Know  thy  Chick  781 

Of  your  daughter — you  think  you  know  her, 

Yet  is  there  a  httle  more 
You  might  have  seen,  one  weak  point 

Puts  her  queenhness  out  of  joint, 

To  wit,  her  pack  of  vanity — 

I  '11  be  plain  with  you,  sire,  you  see, 
Much  as  you  have  been  with  me — . 

So  I  make  my  attack 
Where  she  is  weak,  just  for  lack 

Of  love  in  me,  as  you  said — 
Having  small  heart  I  must  use  my  head 

If  I  would  win  her  to  love  and  wed. 

An  heiress  and  I  need  her  gold, 

A  lover  and  I  need  her  love — 
I  must  play  to  be  bold. 

Just  to  win  is  enough 
As  this  world  goes,  so  I  blink  and  bow, 

So  I  smooth  and  chatter  her 
My  cunning  way  to  flatter  her — 

If  I  win,  what  matters  how? 

She  is  that  you  say  she  is, 

Nature  made  her  noble  and  true, 
One  I  must  not  play  to  miss 

Since  nature  made  her  fragile  too 
In  this:  with  youth  and  her  perfect  heart 

She  's  not  content,  must  pinken  the  cheek, 
Coil  her  locks  by  cadgy  art. 

Blue  her  eye  to  make  it  speak 

Less  than  soul  has — pigment-tricks. 

There  the  yellow  fustic  sticks, 
Or  pale  powder  by  just  a  thrust 

Against  her  side  cheek,  dust  to  dust — 


782  Know  thy  Chick 

So  she  plays  her  moth-wing  role, 

Turns  attention  away  from  soul — 

Made  was  her  heart  to  win, 

Yet  she  rather  would  shine  by  curl  and  chin, 

So  that  way  '  t  was  I  caught  her 
One  sweet  evening  between  lights, 

Paid  such  compliments  to  your  daughter 
As  filled  her  with  new  delights, 

Put  her  eyes  dancing  to  drink  and  know 
More  of  me  who  could  value  so 

The  pink  in  her  and  brow  of  a  doll 
And  pheasant-flutter  over  her  all. 

I  could  talk  by  my  knowledge-knack, 
Having  no  heart  to  keep  me  back. 

While  he  there,  my  rival  bird, 
So  by  the  love  in  him  was  stirred 

He  could  whisper  never  a  word, 
Till  that  way  it  happened  that  she 

Gave  her  whole  thought  and  whisper  to  me 
And  more  too,  as  you  shall  see 

When  now  I  tell  you  this  truth : 
I  'm  sure  there  is  a  place  for  me 

Fast  in  her  heart  forsooth; 
I  'm  sure  my  rival  is  not  to  be 

At  her  cheek  and  lip  in  place  of  me. 
For  I  was  destined  to  have  my  way 

In  this  game  of  hearts  by  the  hand  I  play — 
I  married  yoiu"  daughter  yesterday ! 


RIVALS 

There  was  my  rival  come  from  abroad, 

Approached  me  now  like  a  crow-cock  lord! 
Such  was  his  Satrap-way 

You  would,  if  you  saw  him,  say, 
From  his  look  of  venomy. 

He  took  me  for  an  enemy, 
I  who  had  lost  my  sting,  drew  a  sigh 

At  his  mouth-malice  and  chop-axe  eye. 

He  had  not  seen  her  for  many  a  day, 

The  girl  who  stood  between  us  two, 
So  came  now  to  have  his  way, 

To  claim  her  and  take  her  too ! 
What  could  I  count  by  my  belfry-head 

Against  his  gold,  since  also  he  knew 
A  way  to  have  and  to  hold  her  too, 

In  spite  of  me,  as  he  said? 

My  tower-bell  notes  I  could  ring. 
He  would  tumble  his  coin  into  chime 

So  I  should  see  how  gold  could  sing 
High  over  my  bagpipe  of  rhyme ! 

I  was  not  handsome  the  man-like  way. 
Had  small  voice  to  make  me  heard 

In  a  sweet  girl  's  heart  where  sun-stripes  play 
If  a  morning  breeze  is  stirred. 
783 


784  Rivals 

"Since  both  may  not  have  her,"  he  said, 
"Let  one  of  us  die! 

Better  one  should  be  dead 
Than  he  see  her  He, 

Like  a  locket  of  charms, 
In  the  other's  arms! 

To  the  knife  and  fight  it  out, 
Settle  the  thing  by  rule  of  rout, 

" Put  all  title  to  her  past  a  doubt!" 
Nothing  I  said,  so  he  took  my  way 

Of  silence  for  simple  "yea," 
Pointed  yonder,  "There,"  he  said, 

"Is  the  churchyard,  your  one  place  for  the  dead! 
Whet  your  blade  to  split  a  hair, 

Never  another  word  to  spare 
And  we  '11  fight  it  out  in  the  churchyard  there!" 

Enough  said,  he  led  me  over 
One  wide  field  of  pink-top  clover, 

And  now  for  certain  and  soon 
Stood  we  there  in  the  willow-plot. 

Close  by  one  little  sorrow-dune 
Smothered  in  forget-me-not — 

"See,  what  a  sweet  flower,"  I  said, 
"  Lies  here  in  this  new  garden-bed!" 

"Brilla" — just  that  was  all — 
Her  pretty  name — each  flower  would  say 

"She  only  laid  here  the  other  day, 
Soon  we  will  follow  her  her  new  way. 

Since  soul  is  large,  life  is  small" — 
Each  bird  about,  chebec  or  wren. 

Repeats  his  song  just  to  tell  me  plain 
How  all  that  is  gone  will  come  again. 


Rivals  785 

My  hand  in  his  hand  he  took 
His  man-hearted  way — 

There  was  one  unspoken  look 
Of  a  wound  which  has  not  a  word  to  say 

As  thereso  he  held  to  my  hand 
— My  loss  his  loss  you  understand — 

Rivals  no  more,  but  more  than  all  others 
In  the  brotherless  world  we  were  brothers. 


PRIEST  AND  SEQUELA 
Sequela 

Come  away  from  there! 
That  chapel  boxes  in  the  air, 

Boxes  men  up,  roofs  men  under 
So  they  may  not  catch  the  thunder 

Nor  see  sight-Hght — come  away 
From  their  candle-stick  altar-play 

Of  thumb  and  fee- work, 
As  if  God  melted  at  a  knee-jerk, 

Liked  beggars,  counted  dimes. 
Was  flattered  by  your  troop  of  chimes! 

Certain  or  certain  not, 
What  is  it  matters  what 

So  I  keep  my  master-thought, 
So  I  keep  myself  wholly 

Free  of  your  dominion-folly? 
You  nought  me  out  when  I  was  a  child, 

When  I  knew  not  a  way  to  know 
I  was  meant  to  battle  to  grow 

To  mightiness  mightily  self-st^'led 
And  no  part  of  you  or  your  crotchets 

For  splitting  kinks,  flapping  rochets. 
Then  was  I  the  child  squarely : 

Did  you  play  mc  honest-fairly 
Your  day  you  pinned  me  to  your  thought 
786 


Priest  and  Sequela  7^7 

I  never  would  have  thought  save  you 
Held  me  to  it,  put  mc  so 

For  one  way  I  must  climb  to  grow, 
Nailed  me  to  it,  spit  me  through 

As  you  tack  a  creeper  to  a  wall 
To  lie  there  under  your  thumb  and  thrall  ? 

Ah,  but  God  gave  mc  thought  for  growing 
My  own  truth,  my  way  for  knowing 

Truth,  my  truth,  mine,  mine — 
There  's  the  thing  in  me  most  divine ! 

See  there  a  strip  of  sun  how  it  plies. 
First  at  a  chrysoprasc  for  green, 

Next  at  cinnamon-stone  which  flies 
Crimson  blood-royal  sheen, 

Each  his  own  stripe  and  tongue 
Of  fire,  each  his  own  lip  and  lung ! 

My  life,  so  far,  I  've  followed  you 
Your  dreary  weary  round 

Of  clap-trap,  onyx-camaieu 
Finger- rig,  your  poor  candle-clue 

To  truth,  all  you  ever  found 
By  rooting  scarce  a  pinch  above  ground — 

Candle-truth,  candle-sighted, 
And  the  candle  not  once  lighted, 

Careless  you  of  the  beautiful  hour 
Of  wings,  so  you  come  to  power 

Over  me,  put  me  doing 
Your  way,  your  winking,  thinking,  chewing 

Cheap  chaff,  drinking  missal-stew 
That  I  may  come  to  snivel  and  mew. 

That  I  may  serve  God  by  serving  you ! 
I  served  my  time — hold  to  that ! 

Perchance  it  is  wholly  well 
I  know  the  mix  of  your  aludel, 


788  Priest  and  Sequela 

I  know  your  scowl  and  caveat — 
They  point  my  truth  I  'm  driving  at. 

Priest 

Yet  is  there  God  to  serve,  to  fear! 
That  part  you  underlook; 

Here  it  is  written  in  a  Book, 
While  what  more,  i'  faith,  is  needed 

That  it  should  be  heard  and  heeded? 
Who  may  look  out  on  the  cold  high  clear 

Of  evening  through  the  stars, 
Where  not  an  atom  jars, 

To  know  that  there  and  here 
Is  death,  that  death  is  near 

As  the  breath  is  of  an  hour? 
Who  may  look  out  at  eternal  Power 

For  wonder  and  not  a  fear? 
So,  too,  I  may  not  swerve 

From  doom,  man's  doom  to  serve. 
For  see,  he  may  not  nod  a  thumb 

But  he  serves  a  purpose,  loud  or  dumb ! 
Service  and  fear — there  are  yoiu"  kings 

Whom  you  shall  not  once  escape. 
For  they  point  the  destiny  of  things, 

For  they  shape  you  to  their  shape. 
Who  would  be  once  without  his  fear, 

One  part  of  him  as  God  made  him, 
Man's  night-side,  meant  to  shade  him 

So  his  star  may  look  through  and  clear? 

Sequela 

I  've  followed  you  the  round  round 

Of  whittled  thought,  knotted  hands, 


Priest  and  Sequela  7S9 

Till  this  much  I  have  found 

For  majesty  in  man :  what  he  withstands, 
What  he  out-powers  or  commands 

Makes  for  Power  in  him,  which  is  Beauty — 
There  he  wrestles  with  stiff  duty. 

There  he  lies  down  to  die 
God-fashion,  never  a  sigh. 

His  star-soul  like  a  sheet  of  sky 
For  everlasting  clear — 

While  what  do  you  rule  by  your  lip  of  fear? 
Service,  say  you — there  's  God  to  serve — 

As  if  the  vast  God  could  deserve, 
Could  have  one  atom  of  one  desire 

More  than  I  make  from  high  to  higher 
By  serving,  not  Him,  thus  humanly. 

But  by  serving  the  voice  of  power  in  me ! 
God  is  power  of  Beauty,  Beauty  of  power. 

While  there  's  not  for  you  to  try  to  please  it 
Save  by  reaching  to  try  to  seize  it 

Somewhat  in  your  life  of  an  hour. 
Power  is  about  me  and  anenst 

For  me  to  put  myself  against 
By  might  of  virtue,  by  hard  endurance, 

Self-sustained,  self-assurance, 
I,  just  the  one  man  I 

Alone  for  what  is  sovereignty, 
Which  puts  all  power  to  coddling  me. 

Against  me  is  power,  all  ways  I  turn. 
From  sea-spout  to  sky  supern 

Whose  gold  eye-balls  spit  and  bum. 
Man  is  here  his  day  and  gone. 

While  not  out  of  the  winking  dawn 
Is  Power  he  was  meant  to  lean  upon 

More  than  yonder  flower  which  will  rise, 


79°  Priest  and  Sequela 

'Twixt  storm  and  scorch,  to  pluck  one  lip 

Out  of  yonder  scarlet  skies, 
Hold  the  dawn-pink  in  its  grip. 

Priest 

You  know  the  weakness  of  man, 
What  nothing  he  may  span 

By  contrast  with  sun  or  planet-flower, 
What  no-time  is  his  life  in  him, 

How  his  light  feebles  down  to  dim 
By  contrast  with  one  eternal  hour! 

Power  is  above  him,  is  beyond. 
Is  against  him,  he  under  bond 

To  kneel  to  it,  kneel  he  must 
To  his  final  defeat  which  is  death, 

Give  his  heart  up  and  lust  of  breath, 
So  is  he  moulded  to  kneel,  to  trust, 

To  look  up,  to  knuckle  down 
Under  rulership  and  frown 

To  win  God  for  better,  for  worse, 
Swallow  this  life-lot  like  a  curse — 

There  's  the  heel-stamp  of  the  universe! 

Sequela 

So!    Yet  was  one  man  I  knew  once, 

The  man  knocked  out  of  him  when  a  child. 
Was  put  to  practising  dupe  and  dunce, 

Was  taught  it  was  manlier  to  be  mild 
And  prayerfiil — he  should  be  prince 

Of  power  by  knowing  how  to  wince 
The  worm-way,  he  should  stoop 

To  please  God,  copy  chicken-droop. 
Whimper,  whine,  snivel 

For  cheap  luck  between  God  and  Devil. 


Priest  and  Sequela  791 

So  they  put  him,  now  he  was  young, 

To  fetch  scarce  a  wrinkle  in  his  tongue, 
To  his  knees — he  should  learn  how 

To  wheedle,  to  thumb  and  bow. 
He  should  learn  to  put  up  each  palm 

To  keep  sky  off,  pipe  a  sigh  in  psalm 
To  s^ve  his  gizzard  from  crop  of  harm. 

So  he  stooped  while  he  grew, 
So  he  grew  stoop,  soon  scarce  knew 

If  he  was  double  or  bent  in  two. 
Came  his  day  when  he  awoke. 

When  he  tried  to  straighten. 
When  he  tried  to  greaten 

And  could  not,  for  there  his  back  was  broke. 
Against  man  is  Power  in  the  universe. 

He  here  for  better  or  for  worse 
To  clinch  with  it  and  not  yield 

'Though  he  lose  his  grip,  his  field; 
Power  against  him,  he  against  Power 

To  bring  him  to  shape  and  size 
Above  this  clay-model  of  an  hour. 

To  force  him  by  counterforce  to  rise 
A  thumb  higher — there  are  his  skies 

Above  always  and  beyond 
What  he  may  comprehend, 

Yet  is  there  in  him  that  which  is  fond 
Of  knowing  there  shall  be  no  end 

Of  anything,  primely  of  him 
With  his  acrobat-heart,  ego-vim. 

You  have  I  followed,  just  you 
I  bowed  and  listened  to 

To  learn  of  what  is  true, 
You  for  master,  I  to  follow, 

I  all  gullet,  I  all  swallow, 


792  Priest  and  Sequela 

You  for  prisoner,  you  bound 

To  me  like  pebbles  to  their  ground — 
Comes  this  truth  out  to  each  rcasoner, 

He  who  prisons  is  a  prisoner. 
I  and  you  are  bound  together 

By  law-links,  toggle-knots  of  truth, 
Your  cold  way  of  "why,"  of  "whether," 

Not  once  one  warm  soul  of  youth 
To  tie  us — you  was  to  school  me 

To  your  thinking  so  to  rule  me. 
While  there  now  I  snapped  the  link, 

Am  free  again,  dare  to  think, 
Yet  I  would  not  be  free  of  you! 

Who  in  the  world  would  be  free  of  love, 
His  sky  where  his  starlight  grew. 

His  other  self  he  is  coming  to 
High  over  him,  always  so  far  above 

As  to  prove  him  this  Hfe  is  not  enough. 
Proof  there  's  no  kingdoming  like  love? 

You  sought  to  rule  me  by  thumb  and  writ ; 
I  saw  the  feebleness  of  it. 

The  littleness  of  what  you  knew 
For  truth,  never  an  atom  true. 

Save  that  my  soul  was  all  love  of  you. 


There  now  it  was  May ! 

It  was  one  sky-wonder  day 
In  sun-fields  where  they  took  their  way. 

Like  lovers  do,  took  not  a  thought 
Of  "why,"  of  "wherefore- whether," 

Knew  just  that  they  were  one  together, 
That  the  what-of-it  mattered  not, 

Save  that  their  thinking  was  bosom-wrought 


Priest  and  Sequela  793 

Of  May-pink  and  love  and  sun 

And  their  young  joy-life  just  begun. 
Priest  and  Priestess,  they  took  their  way ! 

What  nothing  he  had  to  say 
Now  love  had  him,  put  him  stalking. 

Showed  him  his  soul,  stopped  his  talking, 
Brought  him  squarely  to  his  knees 

For  love  just,  never  a  God  to  please! 
Psalmody,  creed- work,  or  doubt 

Was  small  matter,  was  crowded  out 
Of  the  heart  of  him — there  he  stood 

In  his  new  kingdom-of-heaven  mood, 
All  love,  all  master,  and  all  good. 

For  now  he  drew  her  to  him  to  say 
Love  was  best,  he  would  go  her  way 

Of  righteousness  which  was  greater 
Than  churchery  or  any  worship-way 

Which  littles  to  subordinate  man 
Because  God  is  God  on  his  higher  plan, 

Since  man  will  come  along  later 
To  be  God  too,  to  gather  power 

To  compass  a  cycle  in  an  hour 
By  great-heartedness,  keen  love. 

Endurance  which  outwearies  Hell, 
Sings  Night  is  on,  sings  all  is  well — 

There  *s  the  God  in  him  all  enough! 
Right  in  the  best  of  their  sunfield  walk 

He  drew  a  day-lily  from  its  stalk. 
Put  it  in  her  soulfullest  hand 

Which  held  him  so  at  her  command. 
That  she  might  wholly  understand 

His  heart  was  there  too,  like  the  flower 
To  follow  her  where  she  went, 

Her  way,  her  supremest  bent 


794  Priest  and  Sequela 

Above  altars,  only  for  love — 

Drew  her  to  him  again 
As  a  maple  draws  stars  and  rain 

Out  of  heaven  down  to  each  lip 
To  get  the  yellow  and  silver  drip — 

So  she  held  him,  too,  and  close 
"  As  a  bee  in  the  lapwings  of  a  rose — 

There  they  were  so  in  soul  and  mind 
As  to  leave  all  else  behind 

Save  love,  just  the  greatness  of  love — 
There  was  their  best  and  all  enough ! 

Then  this  thought  in  him  began  to  grow: 
I  am  more  than  the  thing  I  know, 

I  am  more  than  the  way  I  go. 


GREATNESS 

Guns  to  their  booming 
For  you  that  are  you, 

That  are  great, 
That  can  do 
The  foredooming 
Of  fate 
To  rise  to  be  vast  vicegerent  of  state! 


Fires  to  their  leaping 
For  you  that  were  born 
To  the  hour 
To  be  sworn 
To  the  reaping 
Of  Power 
To  be  topmost  masterful  man  of  the  hour! 


Flags  to  their  streaming 
For  you  that  were  grown 
To  make  might 
Of  a  throne 
By  your  scheming 
To  fight 
For  place  with  the  stars  to  look  down  from  their  height. 

795 


796  Greatness 

Bells  to  their  clinking 
For  you  that  have  brain 
To  turn  loss 
Into  gain, 
To  go  thinking 
New  cause 
For  greatness  to  capture  a  world's  applause! 

Cups  to  their  draining 
For  you  that  have  skill 
To  bend  men 
To  your  will 
By  your  reigning 
To  chain 
All  thought  to  your  thought  by  a  God's  domain! 

Tears  to  their  streaming 
For  one  who  could  make 
Life  a  loss 
For  truth's  sake 
By  ad  deeming 
His  cross 
One  true  tree  of  life  for  no  kind  of  loss ! 

Hearts  to  their  clapping 
For  him  who  shall  tower 
Above  mind, 
Above  Power 
Or  mishapping 
To  find 
Great  greatness  is  just  to  be  true  and  kind! 


EUNICE  AND  I 

Let  me  tell  you,  my  friend, 

This  life  is  short, 
Comes  to  one  soon  and  sudden  end 

Whether  you  swallow  the  truth  or  not, 
And  men  are  never  satisfied 

As  men  have  lived  and  died. 

Soul  is  larger  than  any  thought, 

Makes  for  more  than  men  have  sought 

Or  time  has  wrought. 

Is  so  large  as  to  never  complain 

Because  the  limit  is  this  brain 

Which  looks  and  snaps  and  is  gone  again. 

There  's  this  pumping  at  my  wrist. 

There  's  this  breath  which  comes  and  goes 
After  giving  the  tongue  a  twist 

And  I  am  feeling  my  way  with  toes 
And  tentacles,  as  the  gum-fly  does — 

Soul  is  above  such  trick  and  fuss. 

For  I  am  looking  at  the  skies 

To  wonder  what  is  out  beyond; 

I  wonder  if  the  moon  is  wise. 

Or  only  tramp  and  vagabond, 

While  I  puff  and  wonder 

At  each  boom  of  thunder, 
797 


798  Eunice  and  I 

Yet  always  I  look  beyond, 

I  see  the  suns  are  under  bond, 

I  know  I  would  not  be  there 

Bound  as  they  are  to  blink  and  stare, 

To  keep  one  way,  hold  my  lip, 
Give  a  universe  the  slip — 

And  so  I  think,  the  while  my  toes 
Carry  me,  my  diaphragm  goes. 

Heart  kicks,  bellows  blows, 

— How  they  do  it  God  only  knows — 

I  am  not  of  them,  I  am  out  there 

Where  comets  climb  the  silver  stair. 

So  by  this  lamplight  night  I  sit, 

Eunice  is  by  me, 
We  two  are  thinking  of  it. 

Thinking  how  the  gadflies  try  me, 
How  we  must  eat  and  snuff  and  pinch 

And  this  life  short  as  a  niggard  inch 

And  going,  so  we  let  it  go — 

What  if  each  perfect  point  be  a  sting, 
What  if  all  earth  be  undertoe, 

Yet  will  I  toss  my  bell  and  wing 
For  flight  and  summer  carolling 

And  let  the  worm-world  go. 

Hand  in  hand  are  we  together 

In  this  perfect  weather 
Of  the  moon 

To  think  of  one  vast  forever, 
Of  such  a  night  of  noon 

Which  is  gone  so  soon 


Eunice  and  I  799 

Because  it  comes  again, 

Comes  with  the  same  gold  feet 
To  dance  in  my  dew-field  or  village  street, 

Pelts  fire  at  the  rain, 
Drops  its  yellow  tunis 

On  my  perfect  Eunice. 

A  troupial  ducked  in  his  tree 

As  if  he  would  dart  away 
Beyond  what  he  could  see 

Into  his  galaxy  day 
So  vast  as  to  go  unsaid, 

Like  a  rain  of  worlds  overhead ; 

Then  the  one  look  to  his  mate — 

She  is  there  with  her  little  young 
Where  the  emerald  flowers  are  hung 

And  he  is  fastened — he  must  wait, 
Give  his  heart  up,  serve  out  his  term, 

Juggle  for  the  crumb  and  worm. 

He  is  tied  to  his  tree 

Just  as  we; 
Yet  he  knows  he  shall  fly 

One  day,  pinnacle  high; 
So  let  him  splutter  and  pick 

For  life — there  's  soul  in  the  trick ! 

Hand  in  hand,  Eunice  and  I, 

Nought  in  life  could  unheart  us 
And  we  looking  in  the  infinite  sky 

To  find  no  death  there — what  shall  part  us 
When  nothing  stops  or  is  gone 

So  I  know  soul  plunges  on  and  on? 


8oo  Eunice  and  I 

So  we  come  down  to  little  things, 

To  life,  which  is  short, 
To  know  how  somehow  out  of  it  springs 

Soul  which  is  born  and  wrought 
To  be  great  and  mastrous  and  fond, 

Always  to  look  to  one  big  beyond. 


THOU  SHALT  NOT  KILL 

Every  little  life  to  its  own  sweet  life ! 
Dispute  me  that! 
Say  your  way  is  about  the  best 
For  life  for  you  to  be  coming  at 
So  you  reap  joy — devil  take  the  rest ! 
Let  slip  the  knife! 
Your  petronel  on  a  storm-plover 
For  joy  to  you 
That  you  split  him  through 
To  topple  what  little  sky-shine  over 
He  tried  to  swallow, 

Leave  him  there  dark  and  cold  and  hollow ! 
Blaze  your  blunderbuss  at  a  moose 
To  stuff  his  heart  with  winters, 
Knock  his  nostrils  into  splinters 
To  let  soul  out  of  him,  stop  use 
And  life  and  Beauty,  give  him  death — 
Why  should  he  pull  a  suck  of  breath? 
A  yaffingale  in  a  knot  of  apple 
For  one  drink  of  juice 
To  put  parch  out,  stay  his  thrapple, 
And  just  because  you  choose 
You  pin  him  there,  shower- shotted 
Where  his  apple-branch  is  knotted 
Like  defiance  to  you,  and  you  listen — 
I  could  see  your  eye-laugh  glisten 
8oi 


8o2  Thou  Shalt  Not  Kill 

Now  he  dropped  his  pretty  monody 

And  you  caught  what  low  last  swanody 

Was  his  as  it  died  away 

To  tickle  your  hell-heart  and  panther-play. 

A  thrasher  waltzes  from  bough  to  bough, 

You  know  the  hop  of  him  and  how, 

But  for  you,  he  would  be  hopping  now 

In  his  small  forest  of  phillyrea 

To  such  heart-loaded  hysteria 

Of  joy  I  would  think  his  trees 

Were  bugles — then  next  came  you 

Whom  neither  his  song  nor  dance  could  please, 

So  you  bored  his  lemon  bosom  through — 

Even  now,  years  after,  I  hear 

His  last  ripple  just,  kind  and  clear, 

Singing  forgiveness  to  such  as  you. 

A  meadow-mink  looked  to  the  sun 

To  wonder,  now  day  was  done, 

What  swamp-apple  or  moorberry  she  might 

Fetch  her  little  ones  over  night 

As  there  she  stood  against  the  sun, 

While  there  you  came  with  your  leopard-foot 

And  aimed,  as  if  God's  love  might  run 

Out  of  the  thrapple  of  a  gun — 

Now  is  the  air  as  the  stars  are  mute. 

And  she  comes  no  more  where  her  little  brood 

Waited  for  the  mother-mood 

Which  means  all  heaven-given  good — 

Ah,  I  see,  God  made  her  hide 

Fur-coated  to  tuck  you  safe  inside. 

You  for  pet  best,  you  must  be  warm 

To  suckle  sweet,  to  gather  power 

To  lie  like  dew  does  in  a  flower, 

And  her  brood  may  wither  in  the  storm! 


Thou  Shalt  Not  Kill  803 

Surroyal  stag,  strike  him  under, 

Since  there  cotdd  be  never  blunder 

In  a  universe  which  is  God's, 

In  a  game  of  souls  and  sods : 

There  he  stands,  such  kind-like  eye 

Turned  to  you  I  woiild  think  a  man 

Could  sooner  choose  to  die 

Than  crush  his  face.     Ah,  but  your  plan 

Of  joy  comes,  of  course,  first  best, 

As  I  said,  devil  take  the  rest 

At  all  cost  to  a  scarlet  ibis 

So  you  track  him  to  where  his  tribe  is 

To  drink  his  blood,  wear  his  wing. 

Nor  mind  the  red  riot  of  the  thing. 

So  there  's  your  best — so  you  must  kill 

For  joy  only  to  tear  off  the  features 

Of  God's  beautifullest  Beauty-creatures 

To  delight  you,  nor  count  the  ill; 

Being  man  at  it  were  small  matter 

So  you  jump  to  laugh  and  chatter — 

Being  man  at  it  could  scarce  count, 

Since  leaps  of  joy  make  paramount. 

Which  were  nobler,  that  you  drink  wind 

Just  to  laugh  a  bit,  have  your  day 

At  sun  licks,  porgy-play 

To  dilate  so  you  may  say 

How  in  your  time  you  snarled  and  grinned, 

Or  conscience-like  and  in  God's  name 

Let  others,  His  others,  do  the  same? 

Being  man  at  it  is  all 

You  '11  get  out  of  it,  vast  or  small. 

Since  all  a  man  may  do 

Is  what  he  may  give  for  kind,  for  true, 

To  know  how  killing  makes  not  a  part 


8o4  Thou  Shalt  Not  Kill 

Of  his  own  gentle  heart 

And  he  yield  to  it,  keep  his  way 

Straight  where  the  master  fine  feelings  play. 

Life  for  just  life  lives  on  life,  but  oh, 

Who  is  there  lives  and  loves  it  so? 

Being  man  at  it  is  to  care 

For  Beauty  in  the  thin  white  air 

And  out  of  it.  Beauty  which  is  true 

Of  what  is  first  in  the  heart  of  you; 

Being  man  at  it  is  to  care 

Only  for  what  is  fair. 

Nor  mind  your  worm-world  there 

Nor  what  rules  in  it,  nor  how  men  say 

"God  made  us,  let  God  have  his  way," 

Since  being  man  at  it  is  to  know 

Better  's  to  come  to,  ever  so. 

And  no  completion  and  no  rest, 

Nor  place  in  the  universe  for  best. 

Being  man  at  it  is  to  strike 

Against  what  is  hideous-like 

To  spare  the  songing  morning  shrike. 

Since  more  are  you  than  this  body-dike 

Through  which,  whatever  much  you  seek, 

Soul  gets  scarce  a  chance  to  peek. 

Man  at  it — there  's  the  ring 

Puts  space  out,  gathers  wing 

To  circum-circle  everything. 


LOST  AND  FOUND 

Over  beyond  by  my  garden- wall, 

Just  where 
Sun  brushes  against  garden-pear, 

Best  of  all 
Was  a  chance  that  I  might  find  her  there, 

My  garden-girl,  and  she 
Watching,  perchance,  for  a  look  from  me; 

Or  under  her  basswood  bough 

To  sit 
To  weave  her  thought  as  moonbeams  knit — 

Everyhow 
I  did  my  most  to  fancy  her  knitting 
A  thought  of  me  now 
Where  her  swifts  were  flitting; 

Over  the  edge  of  her  meadow-brook 

I  thought 
I  could  see  her  there  as  if  she  sought 

To  have  one  look 
Deep  in  the  water  which  woiild  not  blur 

Her  image  by  a  little  stir. 
To  find  me  there  cheek  to  cheek  with  her; 

Down  my  long  little  alley-path 

High  in  phlox 
Which  pointed  straight  to  her  sun-red  rocks 

In  aftermath 
805 


8o6  Lost  and  Found 

I  looked  to  see  if  she  could  be  waiting 
Where  sheejj  and  field  were  separating 
Now  the  grasses  and  the  stars  were  mating; 

Or  high  up  in  the  hills  above 

I  looked, 
Where  sun-down  in  green  gold  leaf  is  booked, 

To  find  my  love — 
Neither  was  she  there  when  I 
Could  hear  the  tired  wind  heave  a  sigh — 
Could  she  be  beyond  in  yonder  sky? 

For  now  so  soon  ago 

I  found 
Her  here  and  there  through  my  blossom-ground 

And  perfect  so 
I  scarce  knew  a  way  to  tell 
Her  cheek  from  pear  or  pimpernel — 
Do  I  gather  now  only  asphodel? 

Yesterday  just  it  seemed  she  stood 

By  the  lake 
To  hear  her  birds  their  sky-way  wake 

Each  underwood — 
Is  it  so  now,  with  all  my  care, 
I  look  for  her  each  new  noonday  there 
To  find  she  is  no  more  anjrwhere? 

Right  as  one  day  I  looked  to  see 

If  she  could  hide 
By  her  grapevine  wall,  on  the  sunny  side, 

If  she  could  be 
Somewhere  in  playful  hiding  from  me, 
Sudden  there  came  the  old  throb  and  start 
Where  I  found  her — deep  in  my  deepest  heart. 


SPIRIT 


What  a  peaceful  way  I  look  at  things 
Now  by  the  drop  of  an  evening  sky 

Where  the  crow  fetches,  siskin  sings, 
And  I  go  listening  by. 

Or  I  stop  to  look 
If  more  be  not  there  than  my  thinking  took; 


II 


For,  right  when  he  stopped  to  stroke  his  wing 
Across  a  leaf  where  the  dew  was  clear, 

His  brother-mate  in  the  branches  near 
Caught  up  the  note,  begun  to  sing 

As  I  looked  to  try  to  see 
How  such  sireny  could  be. 


Ill 


The  song  was  there  in  my  heart  at  least. 
As  much  as  rang  in  my  two  fine  birds — 

We  three  now  there  cupped  at  our  feast 
Of  silver  bells  for  words 

As  this  was  the  truth  they  told: 
All  three  of  us  truly  are  single-souled ; 
807 


8o8  Spirit 


IV 


For  are  we  not  different,  each  of  us  three 
From  the  other  two,  each  his  own  throat 

And  lip,  yet  there  is  the  unique  note 
The  same  in  them  as  it  is  in  me? 

How  to  reason,  on  the  whole, 
Save  we  are  one  songing  longing  soul? 


Do  I  not  look,  as  do  you  and  you. 
Each  by  his  own  proper  eye  and  head. 

To  capture  the  rounded  crown  of  blue, 
Find  knopweed  purple,  poppy  red? 

So  whatso  for  an  eye  I  claim, 
Red  runs  red  to  all  men  all  the  same. 


VI 


There  floats  my  moon  on  the  water-breast 
For  you  and  me,  and  we  take  it  in. 

Each  by  an  eye  of  another  kin, 
For  the  same  gold  streak — there  's  my  test 

To  show  how,  foot  and  nowl. 
All  men  make  part  of  one  parent  soul. 


VII 


Are  we  not,  then,  getting  together. 
More  and  more  of  each  heart  to  each  heart? 

Think  if  the  crop-throat  or  silver  feather 
Be  not  the  thing  that  keeps  us  apart! 

Think  how  I  may  not  see 
My  love,  but  only  her  imagery 


Spirit  809 

VIII 

As  there  she  comes  and  I  know  her  not 
By  what  I  may  see  to  touch  or  hear, 

But  only  deep  in  my  silent  thought 
Is  the  heart  in  her  so  vast  and  clear 

As  truth,  which  does  not  err, 
As  soul,  which  I  divide  with  her. 

IX 

Each  being  so  that  we  both  must  miss 
Each  other  because  the  lip  is  there 

And  shoulder-shape  and  elbow-snare. 
Because  love  is  parted  by  a  kiss, 

Do  I  not  come  to  know 
Souls  get  together  by  what  they  grow 


Of  power  to  weary  this  flesh  away. 
To  wear  the  shin  out  and  finger-nibs, 

Beat  back  this  conqueror-clay 
To  go  free  of  a  cage  of  prison-ribs? 

One  soul  for  all — so  I  say 
We  part  to  get  nearer  together  one  day. 


XI 


So  come  away,  dear,  to  my  overflow-field 
Of  mew  and  yellowest  sunflower  yield 

To  trap  a  globird,  to  question  not 
How  you  are  trapped  by  his  silver  knot ; 

Hand  in  my  hand  to  go, 
Let  us  tap  the  chimes  the  yew-birds  know; 


8io  Spirit 

XII 

Let  us  link  our  souls  to  the  blossom-wind 
Which  tracks,  first  a  lily,  then  a  fern 

Till  all  the  sweetness  be  snared  and  pinned 
To  be  caught  up  into  sky  supern, 

One  wind,  yet  many  sweets. 

Each  tied  to  each  by  a  wind  of  cleats, 

XIII 

By  a  wind  which  grew  them  to  give  them  life, 
Cuffed  each  stalk  till  it  stood  straight  up. 

Put  storm  to  the  flower  for  elbow-strife 
To  give  it  a  zip  and  pretty  cup 

Of  fragrancy  worth  taking 
Above  mud-lap  and  mere  flower-making. 

XIV 

That  way  I  fairly  fancy  I  know 
Soul  is — one  universal  sea 

Of  Power  to  come  this  way  and  go. 
Having  made  the  most  of  you  and  me 

To  waft  us  on  our  way 
To  new  other  kinds  of  field  and  day. 


XV 


As  wholly  deep  in  your  eyes  I  read, 
As  deep  in  the  talking  stars  I  look. 

Nought  is  there  save  one  scanty  screed. 
Or  loose  type,  not  the  printed  book; 

Just  as  each  longing  kiss 
Stops  at  the  lips — the  soul  I  miss. 


Spirit  8ii 

XVI 

The  blue  long  vein  of  elbow-breach 
Or  July  cheek  are  between  us  two, 

Each  holds  the  other  out  of  reach 
And  I  have  only  the  least  of  you; 

Each  one  to  his  tether! 
Lo,  we  must  die  to  get  together! 

XVII 

So  come  away,  dear,  have  not  a  care, 
Life  is  short  because  soul  is  fair 

Which  waits  for  us  in  the  yonder  there! 
Away  to  my  meadow  of  flowers. 

Away  on  the  wings  of  the  hours, 
Life  is  so  short  because  soul  is  so  fair. 


WAITING 

At  her  gate, 

Now  the  hour  was  late — 

It  was  such  an  afternoon 

As  puts  the  thought  of  a  man  in  tune — 

At  her  gate  I  was  leaning  only  to  say 

All  I  had  said  in  another  way 

Many  times  on  many  a  day 

Of  just  such  a  boon 

Of  afternoon. 

Said  I  so: 

I  come  and  I  go, 

My  whole  tale  of  love  you  know. 

Yet  have  you  been  counselling  the  years 

To  bear  my  hopes  off,  but  to  leave  me  my  fears, 

Have  kept  me  waiting  only  to  say 

You  might  think  of  me  one  day 

Of  another  year 

Away  from  here. 

So  I  said. 

That  last  day  I  stood 
Where  your  columbine  was  red 
And  I  was  pale  as  your  satin  snood, 
So  I  said  I  could  wait,  for  I  knew  beside 
How  nought  in  the  world  has  ever  died, 
Knew,  too,  there  would  come  a  day, 
Not  so  far  away. 
When  you  would  say 
812 


Waiting  813 


I  was  right 

To  keep  to  my  way 

Of  uppermost  spirit-light 

Nor  hark  to  what  the  world  had  to  say! 

You  saw  I  was  true  to  my  soul-shapen  thoughts, 

I  piqued  your  world  of  gravies  and  pots, 

Tongue-licks  of  leatherly  sots 

Who  dig  to  make  room 

In  pit  and  doom. 

Your  one  thought 

From  morning  to  noon 

Was  how  the  world  could  be  bought, 

Was  how  you  could  spin  a  rigadoon, 

Train  a  bonnet  to  sprout  like  a  garden-plot, 

Fly  to  a  needle  to  point  you  great, 

Any  man  most  for  a  mate 

So  he  loved  in  you 

The  swish  and  blue. 

You  were  young. 

So  I  saw  at  start, 

Easily  everyway  swung 

Beyond  the  paddock  of  soul  and  heart 

To  jump  your  way  in  the  world  like  a  filly 

In  a  rye-patch,  fly  loose  and  silly, 

Bounding  only  to  be  caught, 

And  it  mattered  not 

The  end  you  wrought. 

Yet  I  said : 

I  hold  to  my  view, 

And  whether  living  or  dead, 

I  put  my  trust  in  the  soul  in  you — 


8i4  Waiting 

For  underneath  it  ail  were  for  me  to  see 
Tricks  and  fingers  of  Divinity 
Working  for  what  or  what  not 
So  that  power  be  caught, 
Soul  be  wrought. 

You  were  young, 

Life  crouched  for  a  leap 

Of  joy  just  to  sow  and  reap 

The  pigeon-pleasures  of  lip  and  tongue, 

While  I  was  well  along  on  the  road  ahead, 

Such  things  for  me  were  crippled  or  dead — 

Is  it,  then,  mere  flesh  instead 

Shall  hold  us  apart 

In  soul  and  heart? 

That  last  day 

I  stood  in  your  gate 

I  loved  you  my  honest  way, 

And  love  is  never  early  nor  late, 

And  I  love  you  now  as  I  loved  you  then, 

'Though  I  am  come  to  another  land 

Of  other  ways,  different  men 

To  understand 

Than  I  knew  then. 

Once  in  life, 

As  I  meant  it  then, 

I  was  to  see  you  again. 

And  you  were  to  be  my  perfect  wife — 

That  last  summer  day  when  I  stood  in  your  gate, 

Saw  you  beginning  to  hesitate, 

How  could  I  have  guessed  it  then, 

My  lot  among  men 

Never  again 


Waiting  815 


To  see  you 

As  I  saw  you  there 

In  sun-rings  and  amber  hair 

And  eyes  as  a  heaven  of  endless  blue 

Trying  in  vain  to  match  heavenly  looks  with  you, 

I  for  never  once  and  nevermore 

To  have  you  so  as  before, 

To  know  you  again 

As  there  and  then. 

Once  I  went 

My  way  from  your  gate 

It  was  as  if  I  were  sent 

To  get  the  clutch  of  an  ugly  fate, 

While  now  I  can  see  the  thing  all  as  it  is. 

Nothing  once  ever  made  to  miss 

Which  soul  wants — and  I  want  you 

For  best  and  for  true 

And  forever  too. 

Now  I  know 

Your  love  of  me  so, 

For  yonder  there  where  they  laid 

My  poor  part  down  in  the  willow-shade 

I  saw  you  how  softly  you  knelt  and  stayed, 

Dropping  your  bay-leaves  and  gentle  tears 

Where  the  moon  looks,  kildee  hears. 

Where  the  night-sweet  leaks, 

Bobolink  peeks. 

Now  I  know 

Tears  are  not  to  shed 

Just  because  you  saw  me  go, 

So  thought  I  was  lost  and  surely  dead! 


8i6  Waiting 

What  in  the  galaxy-fields  is  to  fear 
When  a  whole  sun  is  tucked  in  a  tear, 
One  skyful  never  the  whole 
Of  a  single  soul 
Of  joy  and  dole? 

So  you  grew, 

And  I  never  think 

How  the  world  will  go  with  you 

And  life  but  a  puff  and  thistle's  wink, 

For  there  is  your  purposeful  destiny 

To  make  for  power  to  come  unto  me, 

While  I  am  waiting  for  you, 

As  the  sky- worlds  do, 

In  gold  and  blue. 


A  SKY  WORD 

Her  hand,  tangled  now  in  my  hair 

As  I  lay  at  her  train, 
Reached  to  clutch  at  a  care 

Which  tapped  sharp  at  my  brain, 
Till  one  half-closed  eyelid  of  the  blind 
Let  dark  slip  out — the  moon  behind 
Struck  the  floor 
As  before. 

I  lay  in  her  train  at  her  feet, 

Put  these  hands  to  her  face 
Which  I  held — love  is  never  complete — 

For  a  look  of  her  grace, 
Held  her  face  in  two  hands,  held  it  fast 
Till  this  throb  of  my  brain  should  be  past — 
Would  the  moon 
Leave  us  soon? 

Her  hair  poured  down  to  her  shoulder-edge, 

Bounded  off  and  fell 
Like  a  cataract  over  a  marble  ledge 

Till  I  bathed  in  the  swell 
Where  it  tumbled  to  rumble  about, 
Where  it  splashed  to  dash  at  a  doubt 
Which  held  fast 
To  her  past. 
817 


8i8  A  Sky  Word 

The  Count  was  a  handsome  man  at  most; 

Rapped  the  flags  with  his  stick 
To  make  conversation — no  time  lost, 

Flags  answer  quick; 
Decked  like  a  sheldrake,  plume  in  crest; 
Fine  legs,  round  legs,  all  legs  at  his  best, 
Was  the  plan 
Of  the  man. 

Women  he  knew,  all  women  he  knew; 

Man -minded  or  weak 
Could  want  for  no  master — he  would  do, 

He  had  only  to  speak; 
She  should  obey  him,  love  his  command, 
Coo  to  wince  like  a  squab  in  his  hand 
Which  pants 
At  a  glance. 

Women  long  for  a  master,  he  said, 

One  to  fear  and  hate, 
To  follow  after  if  love  be  dead, 

A  strong  arm  for  a  mate; 
Kind  at  times  only — they  understand 
Who  pin  their  souls  to  an  iron  hand ! 
So  he  schooled 
As  he  ruled. 

She  was  the  slave  of  him  first  to  last 

To  each  nod  of  his  will; 
He  was  the  shadow  against  her  past 

As  it  elbowed  her  still, 
Saying :  See  you  make  him  love  you, 
The  boy  there  who  flutters  above  you! 
Clip  his  wings 
As  he  sings. 


A  Sky  Word  819 

And  so  on — so  galloped  care  in  my  brain 

As  I  lay  at  her  feet 
Shrinking  for  thinking  what  's  to  gain 

'Though  her  promise  be  sweet ! 
How  shotild  I  trust  her? — the  Count  was  there — 
— Her  hand  was  his  hand  stroking  my  hair — 
Every  whim 
Was  of  him. 

Idle  fool-fears — the  spell  was  cold 

He  cast  about  her; 
My  crop  of  faith  was  young,  was  bold, 

Too  large  to  doubt  her ; 
Her  love,  too,  would  kindle  in  return 
— Earth  once  ablaze  and  the  sky  will  burn — 
And  be  true. 
That  I  knew. 

One  wondrous  portrait  hung  at  her  wall, 

A  face  full  of  care; 
The  rut  of  the  mind-moth  was  over  it  all, 

Whole  hell-pits  were  there; 
Such  face  so  young,  so  full  of  care 
Soul  seemed  to  go  and  come  again  there 
In  its  stall 
In  the  wall. 

The  eyes  stood  bounden  to  look  at  space 

From  soul  which  was  gone; 
Death  dropped  a  white  veil  over  the  face, 

White  as  sky  is  at  dawn; 
One  round  small  spot  at  the  temple  said 
Soul  too  is  white  'though  the  heart  be  red 
To  a  streak 
Down  the  cheek. 


820  A  Sky  Word 

Poor  boy,  she  lassoed  him  as  well 
Till  he  writhed  in  her  noose, 
While  the  Count  tipped  a  light  on  the  way  to  hell 

For  the  sweet  lad  to  choose 
To  end  his  sentence  of  life  unsaid 
By  one  small  deep  period,  round  and  red. 
Folly  drops 
Where  it  stops. 

True — but  he  was  of  small  amount 

To  play  great  at  such  game; 
Knew  not  the  trick  to  supplant  the  Count, 

To  snuff  out  the  flame; 
There  's  danger  to  play  where  souls  are  odds. 
For  then  a  man  must  deal  to  the  Gods, 
Take  a  stand. 
Show  his  hand. 

Her  rug  at  her  feet  lay  thin  and  old 

Till  the  moon's  small  beams 
New-knit  it  into  a  cloth  of  gold. 

One  end  of  her  dreams; 
The  Count  was  poor,  the  place  was  old 
Till  my  moon  now  spread  out  her  lap  of  gold 
For  a  thought 
To  be  caught. 

Night's  high  queen  grew  pale,  now  dawn 

Made  signs  of  a  sun, 
Her  rival  foe  in  a  fight  for  mom 

Since  Heaven  begun, 
Let  drop  one  snow-light  out  of  a  cloud — 
Now  turned  the  red  rug  white  as  a  shroud 
Lately  spread 
For  the  dead. 


A  Sky  Word  821 


Gold  in  a  shroud ! — a  word  out  of  skies : 

Be  man  once  again, 
For  there  your  top  of  endeavor  Hes: 

All  profit  is  vain. 
Well — daylight  swept  up  my  dark  once  more ; 
There  I  lay  at  her  train  on  the  floor; 
But  the  care 
Was  not  there. 

You  may  have  her,  Count,  with  all  your  might; 

Your  trick  failed  to  work; 
I  slipped  my  neck  from  your  noose  to-night, 

So  put  up  your  dirk ! 
But  I  shall  have  left  my  heart  with  her, 
My  only  way  I  could  part  with  her — 
There  's  the  shame 
Of  the  game! 


WORSHIP  VERSUS  LOVE 

I  KNEEL  at  the  lavender  lap 

Of  my  love  this  day 

In  a  crouching  way, 
Catch  at  her  glove  and  satin  wrap, 

Much  as  to  say : 
"You  are  better  than  I  in  a  spirit-way, 
Noble  far  more,  stronger  heart 
And  majesty,  yet  my  counterpart. 

"So  I  look  up — instead 

Of  neck-stiff  I  bend  the  head 

As  you  see  me  now — 

There  's  my  alder-bough 
Nods  at  the  sun  to  show  me  how — 

Fully  am  I  content 
To  press  my  lips  where  the  arm  is  bent 
For  very  worshipful  wonderment. 

"Here  at  my  knees 
My  heart  to  fill,  my  Goddess  to  please. 
And  what  has  this  pie-life  more  than  these? 

Do  I  not  know 
You  love  it  and  God  wants  it  so 

That  I  shall  bend  my  knee 
To  Power  so  I  come  to  be 
Slavish  cub-truckling  subserviency?" 
822 


Worship  versus  Love  823 

Not  to  stop  there,  I  took 

Wider  range,  loftier  look 
Straight  to  where 
In  mountain  sweep  of  emerald  air 

I  could  build  temple  to  her  there 
Of  sky-roof  and  copper  flower 

Of  magic-handed  Thessaly, 

So  she  should  hearken  royally 
To  my  praise  of  her  belle-perfect  power. 

Up  I  clomb  in  my  mountain  high, 
Just  under  the  sky, 
Collared  my  pines 
In  columbines. 
Knitted  my  pillar-bars 
Of  the  shooting  stars. 
Built  me  my  altar  there 
Of  crowfoot  stair, 

Of  corchorus,  pimpernels — 
Anemone  I  hung  for  bells, 
Thistles  for  their  honey-cells — 
'Round  the  crystal  rock  ' 

Flew  fire-crest  and  hollyhock — 
In  among  the  bays 
I  tuned  my  lays 
Till  the  jay  joined  in  and  rang  his  praise. 

There  she  should  hark  to  gaze 

At  Vesper-hour 
To  my  altar-praise 
Of  her  gentle  power, 
Of  her  lilac-ways — 


82  4  Worship  versus  Love 

There  I  should  bend  the  knee 

For  prayer  and  glee 
To  hold  her  high  and  to  smallen  me. 

Am  I  not  right,  not  wise 

To  make  of  me  any  sacrifice 

To  draw  love  out  of  her  closet-eyes? 

Shall  a  man  do  less 
Than  humble  him  before  almightiness? 
,         Has  he  another  choice 

Now  Aphrodite  lifts  her  voice 
To  put  his  heart  bounding  to  rejoice? 

So  as  I  got  my  altar  fixed, 

Lilac  and  swallow  and  jasper  mixed, 

There  I  tempted  her  up 

To  listen  to  my  altar-song, 

Pass  me  my  humble-cup. 

See  me  bend  to  belong 

To  her,  watch  me  worship  and  snivel 

To  show  the  slavishness  of  a  weevil. 

"Ah  no,  not  so,"  she  said, 
"Never  you  bend  knee  or  head 
Or  man-shape  which  is  you — 
Heart  up,  head  up  too! 
Nought  of  a  man  is  fair, 
What  love  soever  he  may  share. 
If  the  king  in  him  be  not  there — 
Hold  to  the  man  and  most  in  you! 

"Think  you  I  like 
The  homage  of  a  shrike 
And  not  his  master-song 
He  pipes  for  sweet  and  strong, 


Worship  versus  Love  825 

Never  a  note  of  right  or  wrong 

Or  duty, 
Only  his  love  of  Beauty 
The  fine  day  long? 


"Think  you  you  put  me  great 

Or  higher 
By  so  much  as  you  underrate 
Your  own  masterful  desire 
For  self-made  self-supremacy 
Of  power  to  do,  to  be. 
And  not  an  upward  look  to  me? 

Blow  you  the  breath  of  charm 

In  your  psalming  qualm? 

"Is  it  an  atom  true 

Man  is  noblest  to  limp  and  cringe? 

Am  I  to  fatten  on  your  twinge, 

Lord-Goddess  it  over  you? 

Have  a  thought  of  this : 

Power  was  never  meant  to  miss; 

Have  a  hand  at  it  too 
To  pocket  Power — there  's  the  God  in  you! 

"As  for  me,  your  love 

Is  worship  enough ; 
As  for  you. 

Your  royallest  plan 

Is  that  you  be  man 
Unmastered,  independent-true 
To  your  own  cop-top  loftiness, 
Be  the  might  of  it  more  or  less. 


826  Worship  versus  Love 

"As  for  your  worship — 
Knee-kink,  twisted  lip, 

Folded  palm, 

Cold-minded  shalm, 

Cold-hearted  psalm — 
Pace  the  sun-spaces  through. 
What  worship  of  a  Kickapoo 
Like  your  love  of  mc  and  my  love  of  you?' 


SPIRIT  BEAUTY 

There  's  a  Beauty  comes  and  goes 

Twice  as  fine 
As  the  perfume  of  the  snows, 
As  heart-beats  of  a  vine, 
Like  a  cunning  other  sense 
So  I  may  not  tell  from  whence 
The  blessing  blows, 

Only  this, 
The  sign  was  never  meant  to  miss, 
Sweet  as  a  breath  of  Salamis. 

Yonder  in  drowsy  hill 
Where  the  bubble-play 

And  virelay 
Of  vireo  are  still, 
Yonder  I  look  to  see 
What  early  morning  threnody 

Once  was  there. 
Swallows  in  chuckling  air, 
Sheep  without  a  keeper's  care, 

As  comes  to  me 

My  thought  of  their  pretty  days 

Long  ago. 
Their  song-bush  and  pigeon-ways. 
Pipe-up  in  copper  glow — 
827 


828  Spirit  Beauty 

There  I  saw  them  pitch  and  dance, 
Take  their  turn  at  lofty  chance, 

And  now  I  know, 

As  I  think, 
I  see  them  at  yonder  river-brink. 
Thrush  and  peep  and  meadowink — 

Another  river, 
Nought  I  saw  or  thought  of  ever — 
QuamocHt,  quince  blossom 
Shot  new  other  surcles, 

Witchwolf,  opossum 
Knit  moon-leaves  into  circles, 
Breathed  new  cerulean  fire 
To  quench  their  soul-desire, 

And  I  thought 
Not  what  is  there,  but  what  is  there  not? 

There  's  a  Beauty  comes  and  goes 

Like  a  thought, 
And  I  wonder  if  it  grows 
In  another  garden-plot 
Than  the  garden  once  I  knew 
Where  I  wondered,  as  I  grew, 
What  an  amaranthus  shows, 

If  it  brings 
Messages  of  finer  things 
Where  deeper  Beauty  sports  and  sings. 

For  thereso  as  a  boy 

I  knew  an  elegant  pea-flower  stalk 

To  tuck  a  bud  up  to  decoy 

My  heart  to  tune  and  talk — 


Spirit  Beauty  8^9 


Now  are  daffodil 
And  yellow  other  flowers, 
Yet,  odd  enough,  right  by  me  still 
Through  heavy-minded  hours 
Springs  my  pea-flower  now  to  train 
And  rollick  in  my  heart  again. 

Just  so  as  happy  boy 

I  could  see 

Each  green  cheek  of  pomeroy 

Or  treacle  of  a  bee 
Was  all  the  world  to  be  got, 
Or  I  should  have  missed  my  lot — 

Yet  stays  now  this  one  joy 
Fast  in  me: 
Gone  are  they  all,  Nonesuch  and  bee, 
Yet  left  their  sweet  in  the  soul  of  me. 

I  think  that  he  is  gone. 
My  friend  there  of  hope  and  doubt. 
Because  I  see  him  no  more  about 
By  evening,  by  belamy  dawn — 
Soon  my  heart  begins  to  tick 

To  mind  me  he  is  there 

In  the  spirit-quick 

For  lasting  fair 
Like  nothing  he  could  have  been 

In  pulp  and  spleen. 

Once  I  saw  a  meadow 

Play  with  moon  and  shadow 

Which  danced  about  one  tulip-tree 

So  their  gilded  feet  were  sent 

Helter-skelter-fuUy  bent 

On  black  and  yellow  symmetry 


830  spirit  Beauty 

Like  bees  in  honey-cells  to  cheat 

Sassafras-field  of  every  sweet — 

How  now  just  one  homing  bee 

Brings  my  lost  meadowsweet  back  to  me! 

Far  over  the  hills  I  look 

And  I  see 
Horizon-sky  like  an  open  book 
As  I  wonder  what  can  be 
Onward  in  such  endless  thence, 
Or  I  dream  of  where  and  whence 
Soul  comes,  while  I  look 

And  I  see 
Surely  one  little  place  for  me 
In  yonder  bright  bold  eternity, 

For,  now  I  look  within, 
I  see 
More  than  chance,  more  than  cherubin. 
No  such  thing  as  all  of  me. 
Nor  one  final  consummate  feat 
Where  I  am  done,  where  soul  is  complete- 
So  now  once  more 
I  will  say 
Soul  takes  one  boundless  Beauty-way, 
Always  another  other  day 

Of  silver  wing  in  sycamore, 

I  the  autumn-spring 
Of  endless  new  other  blossoming 

Forevermore. 
So  comes  there  straight  unto  me. 
When  Power  about  tries  to  undo  me, 
A  breath  of  endless  Beauty  through  me 


spirit  Beauty  831 


To  show 
Spirit  hovers  to  come  and  go 
The  same  way  so. 

There  's  the  Beauty  comes  and  goes 

Twice  as  fine 
As  the  perfume  of  the  snows — 
Who  is  there  to  divine 
How  it  comes,  why  it  goes? 
Wiser  he  who  never  knows, 

Save  only  how 

Here  and  now 
Lightly  should  rest  your  care 
When  Beauty  is  everything  everywhere. 


CLASPING  THE  ROSES 

Here  was  a  man  in  a  garden  fell, 
Too  much  clasping  of  roses  there ; 
A  last  thing  I  heard  was  the  tap  of  his  knell 

At  the  village  bell ; 
What  will  you  say,  shall  his  sepulchre  close 

On  the  blood-spotted  rose? 

Here  was  a  hall  in  a  castle  bright, 
Torches  flashed  to  one  last  pale  end, 
Mottled  the  walls  in  yellow  and  white 

Through  shadows  to  blight 
Red-spattered  spots  on  pillars  of  gold — 

Love  was  bought  there  and  sold. 

Carnival  night  and  moons  were  out. 
As  many  moons  in  the  dome  as  suns; 
Each  maid  kept  her  hero-boy  about 

To  play  guard  or  scout ; 
Straight  knights  in  steel  armor  of  mirror-sides 

To  glass-prison  their  brides. 

Top  of  a  hill  their  castle  ran  out 

In  rills  of  music,  over  a  plain. 

Each  waked-up  meadowink  caught  in  rout 

To  scatter  about — 
The  best  of  bassoon  and  drums  was  gone, 

Yet  the  dancing  went  on. 
832 


Clasping  the  Roses  833 

Each  maid  a  white  rose  wore  at  her  breast 
To  speak  such  silence  as  she  would  have  kept 
Who  gave  her  word,  her  soul  and  the  rest 

To  her  one  man  best; 
How  quick  a  maid's  heart  drops  out  of  sight 

And  you  mention  her  knight ! 

Out  to  the  banquet-hall  in  a  wing 

Of  his  wild-eyed  castle  snapping  fire 

The  Duke  sailed  forth  with  each  rose  and  its  sting 

To  stand  in  a  ring 
Of  all  the  sweet  girls  snuggled  about — 

Their  knights  were  left  out. 

To  their  round  white  arms  from  elbow  up 
He  drank ;  drank  to  their  locks,  their  lips, 
Tempted  them  now  to  double  their  sup 

From  his  own  gold  cup 
Till  the  red  old  wine  with  its  fine  old  freaks 

Put  its  palms  to  their  cheeks. 

The  Duke  took  hint  to  follow  suit, 
Kissed  and  clasped  them  close  to  his  neck, 
Where  he  reveled  to  reel  to  wine  and  lute — 

The  castle  was  mute, 
Till  one  hundred  knights  hurled  their  spears  at  his  door — 

They  could  harken  no  more. 

So  said  the  Duke  to  them,  boldly  said: 
Which  of  you  now  will  become  my  bride? 
For  mark,  ere  another  sun  I  shall  wed, 

Or  dream  with  the  dead; 
There  their  bold  battle-axe  clicks  at  the  gate, 

And  the  hour  is  late  I 

Si 


834  Clasping  the  Roses 

Quick  speak — which  of  you  gives  her  hand? 
She  who  speaks  first  shall  be  all  my  queen; 
Am  I  not  almighty  Duke  in  the  land? 

She  too  shall  be  grand. 
I  love  you  all,  so  will  wed  her  on  sight 

Who  abandons  her  knight. 

Quick  flew  one  fairest  out  of  the  flock 
To  pick  a  nest  at  the  Duke's  right  side 
To  whisper  "Only  a  vine  'round  a  rock, 

And  they  all  may  mock, 
But  I  will  wed  thee  this  very  night 

To  be  Duchess  by  right!" 

Nor  sooner  said  than  the  steel  great  gate 

Burst  open  where  one  spit  gave  way 

To  one  hundred  and  one  men  of  war,  of  fate 

Which  is  never  late — 
Knights  of  new  swords  flashed  thirsting  to  thrust 

A  Duke's  blood  into  rust. 

The  Duke  cufl"ed  swords  with  her  honest  knight 

Till  two  long  blades  rang  from  pit  to  dome. 

Sputtered  fire  to  match  stars  with  such  ill-starred  night. 

Spit  blood  left  and  right — 
Only  she  remained  to  lower  the  Duke's  head, 

Who  was  left  to  the  dead. 

She  too  must  go ;  such  burden  was  great ; 
Too  great  to  bear  in  the  long  round  run. 
For  between  her  two  men  she  lost  a  mate, 

Tricked  her  own  fate. 
So  fell  on  the  Duke's  sword,  went  his  way; 

So  much  guilt  could  not  stay. 


Clasping  the  Roses  835 

Here  was  a  man  in  a  garden  fell, 

Too  much  clasping  of  roses  there; 

A  last  thing  I  heard  was  the  tap  of  his  knell 

At  the  village  bell; 
What  will  you  say,  shall  his  sepulchre  close 

On  the  blood-spotted  rose? 

Here  was  a  rose  in  a  garden  cropped, 

Bent  its  white  lip  to  the  white  cold  hand ; 

A  last  thing  I  saw  was  the  stem  where  it  stopped. 

The  grave  where  it  dropped ; 
Like  follows  like  as  the  hour-sands  close 

O'er  the  man  and  the  rose. 


SEMPER  SUPRA 


Keep  a  hand  at  it  to  putter 

To  fish  moons  out  of  a  gutter — 
Nose  at  an  atom  to  see 

If  the  thing  be  not 
Just  the  thing  you  thought, 

A  twist  of  pulp  and  alchemy — 
Poke  in  a  mud- worm's  eye 

To  see  if  soul  must  die, 
If  thinking  and  bosom  squinn 

In  the  gut-works  of  a  worm! 
For  me  the  round  blue  vault 

Of  picture  for  not  a  fault — 
As  for  your  wormy  pistareen 

Postmortem  of  a  carrageen 
To  see  if  God  has  a  knee  or  spleen, 

Better  you  call  a  halt 
To  have  one  look  to  the  planet-vault 

In  lemon  and  red. 
Put  like  a  crown  on  you  overhead, 

So  far,  so  fair,  you  know 
God  's  in  the  moons  whether  or  no 

You  prick  at  a  star  to  prove  it  so. 

II 

Cast  an  eye  at  yonder  stork 

To  see  how  he  grew  a  feather 
836 


Semper  Supra  837 

To  put  battle  to  any  weather — 

Look  now  to  the  auk, 
Find  how  he  forgot  to  walk, 

Forgot  to  fly,  so  lost  his  wing 
And  perished  in  the  polar  spring — 

See  if  the  beetle-fly  could  size 
An  atom  with  his  thousand  eyes 

To  get  a  paltry  atom  wise — 
Better  by  much  I  knew 

A  way  to  look  the  spaces  through 
Into  eternal  beautiful  blue 

Than  I  thresh  at  pigmy-work  with  you. 

Ill 

Rip  up  the  diaphragm  of  a  miller, 

You  blood  and  Beauty-spiller, 
Have  a  care  to  fork  his  nose, 

Play  microscopy  at  his  toes 
To  see  how  spirit  balks  and  goes — 

Spit  his  ribs,  tap  his  back 
To  get  a  hand  in  at  the  knack 

Of  finding  out  wha^  God  may  lack — 
For  me,  give  me  his  wing 

Of  London-smoke-red  frescoing 
To  fly  to  show  his  opal  ring. 

IV 

Strip  a  rain-wrasse  of  his  hide 
And  his  pretty  pride 

To  see  if  under  his  skin 
A  little  mind-light  squeezeth  in — 

Stick  to  your  trick  of  doubt, 
Never  you  look  about 


838  Semper  Supra 

For  his  pink  spots  in  thistle-blue 
Looking  like  all  eyes  to  you 

That  would  darken  and  split  him  through, 
Most  as  my  little  Alley-Bub 

Who  tires  of  his  rub-a-dub, 
So  snaps  the  snares,  breaks  his  drum 

To  know  where  the  music  bubbles  from. 


Send  one  look  to  the  roundabout 

Hemisphere  of  gifted  light: 
There  's  blue  for  you  as  well  as  sight — 

Why  rush  you  in  to  doubt, 
To  put  the  Beauty  in  it  to  rout 

For  sake  only  of  finding  out 
If  God  is  or  God  is  n't 

To  be  handicapped  or  prisoned? 
There  's  such  warmness  waiting  there 

In  the  caressing  air, 
Perfume  of  sun  and  flower 

In  each  tapestried  hour, 
Memory  of  every  past 

Which  holds  you  fast, 
The  one  fine  face  of  the  lost  fine  friend 

Cheek  to  cheek  with  you  till  the  end, 
Your  lilac-branch  which  drops  you  pearls 

Rounded  as  Orion  curls. 
All  for  you,  you  the  fountain-spring 

'Round  which  swift  and  lintie  sing 
To  silver  and  dip  their  wing — 

Have  not  a  care  if  you  may  not  know 
How  pill-corn  and  poppy  blow. 

You  the  masterfullest  thing 


Semper  Supra  839 

'Round  which  all  the  bold  worlds  swing 
For  you  to  capture  on  the  wing! — 

Keats  knew  it  and  told  you  so, 

Beauty  is  all  ye  need  to  know. 


DOLLAR-FOOT  FARM 

Crop-autumn  time  was  then 

At  Farm  villa, 

Each  old  mill 

Was  new-painted  an  old  streak, 

Each  pen 

Showed  hungry  and  open  beak 

For  pash-work  in  new  grain 

Now  autumn-sweet  time  was  come  again. 

Cyrus  Sorgonyon  was  village-beau — 

Little  went 

For  feathers  but  he  should  show, 

Little  meant 

Each  look  of  him  save  to  capture 

A  girl  or  two, 

Bring  them  to  peaks  of  rapture 

The  way  he  knew 

As  Cap-Handler,  Sir  Merry-Much, 
Cardinal  Sun-Smiler — 
Not  another  such 
Could  you  find  for  rare  beguiler — 
So  sure  he  was  he  could  have  his  way 
For  mastery,  play  fast  and  loose 
With  Beauty,  there  was  vast  excuse 
For  slipping  into  his  lasso-noose. 
840 


Dollar-Foot  Farm  ^41 

So,  when  came  his  time  to  wed, 

He  had  only  to  say 

The  word — a  little  pheasant-play, . 

A  lift  of  the  wing,  duck  of  the  head, 

And  what  should  a  girl  but  take 

Cyrus  Sorgonyon,  to  see  him  jut 

From  church  by  his  master  magic-strut, 

Foot  forward  for  her  sake? 

Not  for  love — there  was  his  law 

Of  marriage — yellow  gold 

Made  an  eyeful  worth  playing  for, 

The  game  was  old, 

While  as  for  love. 

He  argued  there  would  be  enough 

In  her  love  of  him — small  need  that  he 

Love  too — 't  were  poor  economy ! 

Dollar-Foot  Farm,  which  was  now 

Farm-royal  in  the  place  about. 

Knew  one  mistress  who  should  bow 

To  none — past  any  doubt 

She  was  bright  and  fair 

As  new  dew  dartles  in  maidenhair. 

But  what  was  more  to  the  rounded  pitch 

She  was  rich,  she  was  farm-royal  rich! 

Mistress  of  Dollar-Foot  Farm — 
There  was  her  masterful  charm 
For  Cyrus — he  was  clever,  he  knew 
A  breath  to  pufl[,  a  thing  to  do 
Better  than  love  and  toiling 
For  love — good  men  were  spoiling 
For  want  of  a  farm 
And  prop  and  a  little  dollar-balm. 


842  Dollar-Foot  Farm 

Gentle  she  was  and  shy 

As  a  linnet  in  a  bunch  of  quick, 

So  locked  his  image  in  each  eye, 

Would  not  look  once  to  see  him  click 

The  plank  walk,  heel  and  toe. 

Looked  else  ways  as  if  she  did  not  know 

His  step  or  shoulder-roll. 

And  his  face  there  fast  in  her  very  soul. 

'T  was  one  sky-kingdom  night — they  stood 

Face  to  face,  one  spar-ledge  leaned 

Against  the  moon  through  her  cedar-wood 

Where  they  stood, 

So  now  his  look  was  screened 

As  he  would  have  it,  her  face  put  square 

To  the  moon  for  twenty  times  as  fair 

As  the  round  gold  heaven  which  sported  there. 

So  shadowed,  he  could  tell  her  straight 
His  love-lie,  so  told  her  this: 
He  would,  by  Heaven,  sooner  miss 
His  chance  of  Heaven,  take  a  beetle's  fate 
Than  not  have  her  for  love,  for  mate, 
Now  she  listened  and  loved  and  sighed 
As  he  lied — ^her  eyes  burned  open  wide 
As  he  lied — oh,  how  he  lied ! 

Next  came  the  pretty  village-bells, 

Rice-day,  flower-shower  of  pimpernels 

And  quickset — all  the  people 

Ducked  under  the  church-steeple 

To  see  her  new  tuck-back  in  yellow  streak, 

See  heart  come  and  go  in  her  cheek. 

And  Cyrus  for  Prince  of  State 

In  sulphur  waistcoat  to  mark  him  great! 


Dollar-Foot  Farm  843 

Peace  they  lived  in,  till  one  day 

Came  a  voice  to  tell 

How  he  married  her  for  pay 

In  land  and  citadel, 

And  no  love  for  her,  no  care 

For  the  curlew  eye,  willow  hair, 

Sweet  soul,  which  was  his  too 

For  little  he  thought  of  it  or  knew. 

Now  she  loved  him  in  spite  of  this; 
What  wild  waywardness  love  is ! 
Loved  him  for  the  poverty  part 
He  so  played  in  his  game  of  heart, 
Pity  for  him  that  he 
Should  small  so  as  not  to  see 
Her  soulfulness  closeted  more  charm 
Than  citadel  could  or  any  farm. 

Since  he  married  her  for  land, 

Not  for  her  heart  and  hand, 

Plainly  she  spoke  him  this:   Since  he  thought 

More  of  onion  and  pumpkin-plot 

Than  love,  her  love  and  soul, 

He  should  have  it,  have  the  whole 

Farm-royal  to  make  him  glad, 

Her  birthright  and  all  she  had 

Save  herself,  since  her  love 

Was  more  for  him  now  she  knew 

How  he  was  weak,  how  the  world  was  rough 

And  she  strong,  how  she  could  do 

Without  gold,  how  he  could  not — 

She  sorrowed  for  his  pauper-lot 

That  he  must  lose  her — she  saw 

How  small  was  his  gain  he  lost  her  for, 


844  Dollar-Foot  Farm 

Her  Dollar-Foot  Farm  and  j^old, 

Which  she  gave  him  to  have  and  to  hold 

For  sole  master — all  was  done 

In  a  day — then  night 

Came  to  put  out  the  light 

Her  heart  held  and  she  was  gone, 

She  with  her  whole  woman-life 

Meant  to  be  mother  and  wondrous  wife. 

See  now  what  little  power 

Man  is  when  face  to  love: 

Scarce  was  she  gone  an  hour 

When  over  and  above 

His  whole  possessions  was  her  star 

Clear  to  him  now  for  cinnabar, 

Olive,  melon-marigold. 

But  high-fixed  out  of  his  hope  or  hold. 

Field  and  meadow  seemed  now  not  much 

More  than  bone-builders — thin  prop, 

Like  a  single  naked  crutch. 

Each  step  of  it  a  full  stop 

And  she  gone — now  was  his  love 

Roused  in  him  to  the  hot  puff 

And  no  dodging — he  could  see  his  cross: 

Soul  afire,  love  at  first  loss. 

Next  then  to  capture  her — 

Each  fibre  in  him  took  tug, 

His  whole  soul  began  to  stir 

The  very  heart  in  him  to  hug 

The  blood  up  as  if  it  knew 

He  was  free,  knew  somewhat  new 

Peopled  him,  made  him  manful-true, 

Unfoibled  him,  mastered  him  too. 


Dollar-Foot  Farm  845 

Came  a  new  night  like  the  first, 
By  the  same  ledge  they  stood 
At  an  angle  of  the  wood, 
Came  the  same  concord-burst 
Of  moonlight — not  now 
Was  any  shadow  at  his  brow, 
Nor  boot-and-button  pride, 
Nor  lies,  nor  anything  to  hide. 

But  heart  to  show — not  a  word 

Nor  whisper  of  him  could  be  heard. 

Nor  power  was  in  him  to  speak — 

Where  the  moon  was  playing,  right  there 

His  lips  were  tangled  in  her  hair, 

Knotted  to  each  cheek, 

While  there  her  rich  new  whited  arm 

Coiled  a  whole  heart  'round  him,  held  each  palm 

Fast  to  his  face,  held  him  close 

Where  her  deep  dew-eyes  flashed  and  played 

Their  fountains  of  soul,  lips  open  laid 

For  him  to  pluck,  his  Sharon  rose — 

So  he  mellowed  in  her  light, 

Her  mightiness  of  love  and  right 

Which  wins  ever.     So  much  for  your  gold 

Men  heap  up  to  trip  over — a  tale  twice  told! 


INCOGNITO 

Poor  fellow,  I  wonder  how  he  died, 

Or  when  or  where ; 
I  wonder,  too,  if  any  north  wind  sighed 

To  find  him  there; 
Or  leaped  once  to  lend  him  of  a  breath 
That  he  might  try  to  plead  an  hour  with  death! 

I  saw  him  first  in  your  crowded  street, 

Years  long  ago, 
As  I  slipped  to  plunge  beyond  these  feet 

In  silky  snow 
To  land  me  straight  in  his  open  arms 
Till  I  might  reach  to  grope  and  hold  his  palms. 

After  days  I  chanced  to  meet  him 

Oft  in  a  while 
Where  wheels  put  by — meet  to  greet  him, 

Catch  his  smile; 
Some  few  thin  thoughts,  if  an  hour  allowed, 
As  so,  one  day,  I  lost  him  in  the  crowd. 

No  part  I  knew  of  his  either  name, 

Place  or  trend ; 
Always  to  me  he  was  the  same. 

My  unknown  friend; 
Stronger  than  lions,  such  gentle  mind, 
Who  seemed  to  have  left  the  world  behind. 
846 


Incognito  847 

Said  he  once,  "Such  hours  are  long 

As  tap  for  me; 
I  seem  waiting  in  your  throng 

To  try  to  see 
If  they  will  need  me  in  any  near, 
As,  may  be  so,  I  'm  not  wanted  here. 

"Other  moods  of  other  souls  than  mine 

May  try  the  race ; 
Yet  there  be  souls  cast  so  true,  so  fine 

For  not  a  trace 
Of  what  has  made  them  sweet  or  fair, 
The  flower  and  not  the  stalk  is  there. 

"I  was  not  to  profit  of  this  earth, 

To  crush,  to  thrust; 
I  take  your  world  for  what  it  is  worth 

Because  I  must, 
As,  too,  I  know  beyond  all  this 
Soul  must  come  to  count  for  what  it  is." 

Sadness  crowded  into  his  face, 

Unprinted  book 
To  write  all  thought  out  and  not  a  trace! 

One  vacant  look 
Put  up  to  smother  some  written  scroll 
More  times  tells  secrets  of  the  soul. 

So  I  lost  him — he  went  his  way, 

No  great  way  off, 
Where  I  must  follow  one  short  clear  day, 

All  soon  enough; 
But  how  I  would  have  caught  his  knell 
To  put,  in  turn,  these  arms  out  where  he  fell! 


848  Incognito 

Such  soul  was  his  as  is  no  more  seen 

Where  streets  are  dull, 
Nor  yet  about  your  yellow  ivy  green 

Whose  throat  is  full; 
Some  superfineness  left  such  trace 
As  touched  to  mark  him  higher  than  his  race. 

How  I  shall  find  him,  or  when  or  where, 

I  may  not  know; 
Only  his  laurel  whispers  to  the  air 

"It  must  be  so"; 
Yet  this  I  know,  the  south-wind  sighed, 
Then  stooped  to  kiss  his  eyelids  when  he  died. 


CLAUDIA 

Oh,  my  brothers,  Right  is  Power, 
Power  to  take  any  flight. 

Just  as  wings  are  part  of  an  hour — 
Dark  has  holes  in  which  to  cower, 

All  space  is  one  throne  of  light. 

I  come  or  I  go 

By  wall-moss,  filigree-snow, 
In  among  my  meadows. 

Out  between  my  corn, 
So  I  thumb  the  shadows 

To  see  how  they  are  born : 
Shadows  end  where  they  begun, 

Only  little  shapes  of  sun. 

I  have  a  way  of  knowing 

What  way  I  must  go 
If  I  would  take  to  growing 

More  than  thumb  or  toe, 
If  I  would  master  music 

As  I  master  grass 
So  to  get  the  true  trick 

Of  pointing  which  it  has. 
If  I  would  fling  my  thought 

Into  blazing  skies. 
Pluck  at  Melilot 

For  its  yellow  eyes, 
S4  849 


850  Claudia 


Pluck  the  Bcrgamot 

For  his  shape  and  dyes, 
If  I  would  see  my  gong-bird  seize 

At  spaces  to  get  more  than  these, 
Hang  his  bells  in  the  dancing  breeze. 

I  do  the  right  thing 

Under  trampling  years 
By  persevering 

Beyond  kicks  and  tears, 
Now  to  help  my  fellow, 

Now  to  ruin  wrong. 
To  turn  the  hard  heart  mellow 

By  a  look  or  song — 
Am  I  not  more  than  once  I  was 

By  one  lordly  law  of  cause? 

I  make  my  way  by  might 

Of  what  is  true  in  me 
As  each  star  punctures  his  night 

By  sovereignty 
Of  straight  going 

And  fine  showing 
To  split  eons  through. 

Table  yellowness  or  blue; 
I  make  my  way  by  force 

Of  what  is  fine  in  me — 
Shall  fineness  seek  divorce 

From  divinity? 

Do  I  not  gather  power 

As  I  go  rightly  along. 
All  as  this  almond  flower 

To  stand  true  and  strong 


Claudia  851 

Against  striking  shower, 

To  fight  my  way 
Into  magic  bower, 

Supernaculum  day, 
To  steal  the  pink  and  cinnabar, 

Steal  the  split  and  wink 
Of  yonder  star? 

So  by  the  Right  I  do, 

By  the  Good  I  am, 
By  the  Truth  I  strew 

To  unmaster  sham, 
By  what  kind  fine  heart 

I  have  in  hand 
To  play  my  part, 

To  take  my  stand 
Against  champion  cheat 

Or  what  is  small. 
To  grow  what  is  sweet 

And  true  and  tall, 
I  gather  to  me  power 

Out  of  all  space, 
Soul  out  of  each  hour. 

Frame  out  of  every  place, 
Just  as  this  Tokay-flow^er 

Will  mantle  so  high 
To  get  the  sea-green  shower 

And  poppy  dye. 
Capture  sweet  and  fire  and  power 

Out  of  every  sky? 

"Ah,"  but  I  hear  you  say, 

Claudia  has  not  come  your  way; 

She  for  whom  you  wait 
Is  a  life-time  late, 


852  Claudia 

While  you  are  passing  on, 

Half  your  life  is  gone 
And  Claudia  may  not  be  born! 

What  of  your  boasted  gift 
To  gather  Power  by  the  way? 

What  of  your  trick  of  thrift 
If  you  forfeit  half  your  pay? 

What  of  the  good  in  you 
For  the  good  you  do, 

Your  life  whittled  true  and  through  ?- 
Claudia  has  not  come  your  way ! ' ' 

This  in  reply  I  hold: 

Man  is  not  great 
By  his  pile  of  gold 

Which  will  compensate 
His  labor  and  cold, 

Not  great  by  what  he  counts 
For  purposes  of  gain. 

But  only  by  what  he  surmounts 
To  let  his  soul-part  reign 

For  only  love  of  Right 
Which  is  Beauty  so  far 

Beyond  his  plug  of  sight 
Or  his  lucky  star 

As  to  poise  uncomputed  fair 
Beyond  blue  zenith  or  white  air, 

Supra-solar  heart  in  lieu 
Of  French  rose  or  upland  dew. 

One  pure  nameless  Beauty  in  view. 

Now  I  know  I  shall  see  her; 

By  such  reason  I  know 
She  is  'round  me  and  near 

Any  way  I  may  go ; 


Claudia  853 

For  out  there  is  her  form, 

In  my  heart  she  is  kept, 
So  what  care  I  if  storm 

Has  threshed  or  slept. 
Or  when  I  shall  have  her  to  hold — 

Comes  endless  time  ever  late, 
Grows  the  soul  ever  old. 

Am  I  to  lose  my  mate 
While  I  gain  ground  and  gold 

To  sputter  my  puny  breath, 
Live  only  to  prepare  for  death 

And  nothing? — Behold,  what  a  look. 
Life  one  little  laughing  puke ! 

Just  now  as  I  was  musing 

I  looked  out  over  my  lawn 
Where  the  melon-fly  is  cruising 

Now  his  raisins  are  in  pawn, 
While  I  watch  him  take  his  run 

Between  leaves  for  a  trick, 
Whip  the  dew  up  just  to  glisten, 

Draw  his  bow  so  I  can  listen, 
Fetch  the  Sharon  rose  a  lick, 

Pick  his  mate  there  in  the  sun, 
All  so  sumptuously  done. 

Yet  I  am  to  peter  out, 

Measure  purpose  with  his  snout, 
Lay  me  down  where  he  lies. 

Copy  him  his  way  he  dies, 
My  soul  meant  to  banquet  flies ! 

He  had  his  day  and  plump; 
You  saw  him  fan  and  pump. 

Take  his  folly- jolly  jump, 


854  Claudia 


Hang  him  to  a  Concord-leaf 

To  get  the  whisper  of  sweet  relief, 
Pack  his  keg  in  honey, 

Climb  his  pole  of  agrimony 
To  fatten  between  the  wings — 

So  he  tickles  and  sings! 

He  has  had  his  day, 

All  he  could  see  to  think; 
He  made  his  best  display, 

His  ellipses  of  blossom-link, 
Followed  his  pumping-bent, 

Kept  his  swinish  sentiment. 
Galloped  in  moonlight  haunts, 

Took  the  orchid  for  his  jaunts, 
Saturated  all  his  wants — 

Just  his  wing  of  purple  ink 
Soared  as  high  as  he  could  think. 

'T  is  other  ways  with  me: 

I  have  a  thing  to  do 
Not  measured  by  your  shoe; 

I  have  a  scope  to  see 
And  a  vast  to  think 

Not  closeted  by  a  wink — 
I  reckon  with  eternity! 

He  is  satisfied  with  lips 
The  while  I  am  not; 

He  likes  to  die  where  he  dips 
In  his  treacle-pot; 

I  am  satisfied  with  nought 
Of  this  life  I  see, 

Save  that  soul  is  wrought 
Of  supremity 


Claudia  855 

And  I  'm  to  become  supreme — 
There  's  my  supra-solar  dream ! 

My  fly  has  had  his  day 

His  pot-slop  way; 
He  sang  and  feasted  at  play 

Among  sun-ambulations, 
Found  his  field  of  destinations 

Meant  rich  crops  of  limitations, 
And  he  is  happy  to  know 

Cunning  nature  made  him  so 
He  learns  to  tumble  and  swim, 

Learns  the  worth  of  wind  and  limb, 
So  now  that  his  flight  is  eased, 

Each  wild  hunger  is  appeased. 
He  is  overmostly  pleased, 

Tickled  if  only  he  snuffed  and  sneezed. 

But  how  runs  life  with  me? 

I  have  such  crop  of  want 
As  demands  immensity, 

More  than  moonlight  haunt, 
More  than  eye  shall  see. 

More  than  fingers  shall  pick, 
More  than  your  philosophy, 

More  than  your  molasses-lick. 
Life  has  glutted  his  beak. 

My  fly  in  his  melon-house. 
Petted  each  tiny  freak. 

Furnished  him  palace  and  spouse; 
Champak  leaves  he  has  for  dippers. 

Little  velvet  flowers  for  slippers, 
Pufifs  of  aroma  wind  for  breath 

To  soothe  him  if  he  languisheth 


856  Claudia 


In  his  lap  of  edelweiss, 

Such  kind  sky  to  close  his  eyes 
He  never  knows  he  dies. 

What  could  he  see  of  Right? 

What  should  he  learn  of  Wrong? 
His  was  the  pinky  light, 

Rubadub  song, 
Parabola  flight 

All  the  day  long 
In  his  forest  of  dock 

With  measured  sw4ng 
And  ting-a-ling 

Like  a  drowsy  clock. 

Am  I  not  more  than  he, 

I  with  my  wrong  and  right, 
I  that  have  more  to  be. 

Have  eternity  in  sight 
To  compass  what  there  is 

In  store  for  me 
Because  I  know  there  's  this 

Much  more  of  me 
Than  I  may  get  out  of  drupe, 

Out  of  moon  or  lake 
Or  cauliflower  cake 

Or  spring  with  its  music-troop? 

Yet  is  he  feasted  full, 

This  my  melon-fly, 
Took  his  longest  pull 

In  his  waves  of  rye, 
Made  the  most  he  could 

Of  all  he  had. 


Claudia  857 


Just  his  pigging-mood 

To  be  full  and  glad 
Of  a  flower  or  breeze 

Just  to  take  his  ease 
According  to  his  size, 

Scatter  as  the  pollen  flies — 
So  he  snuggles  and  dies. 

Yet  has  he  done  his  most 

Before  he  comes  to  die, 
Whether  he  be  made  of  ghost 

Or  only  of  paste  and  dye; 
He  flew  his  highest, 

Reached  his  deepest, 
Drank  his  dry  est, 

Clomb  his  steepest, 
Filled  him  bumper-full 

As  his  April  pool, 
Fetched  his  wing  a  swish 

Above  any  damper. 
Never  knew  the  wish 

He  could  not  pamper; 
Died,  and  he  never  knew 

He  was  meant  to  die 
More  than  my  bolbonacs  do 

Where  they  parch  and  sigh. 

Man  is  of  other  stuff — 

I  know  that  I  am  I; 
Belly  is  never  enough. 

Life  will  never  satisfy; 
In  spite  of  all  I  do 

Which  is  heartful-true, 
More  there  is  of  me  to  be 

Once  to  be  the  whole  of  me. 


858  Claudia 

More  there  is  that  I  shall  do, 
More  for  me  to  widen  to 

To  throw  my  keenest  spark  of  blue 
Than  this  one  life  shall  give, 

All  in  spite  of  my  most  I  live — 

So  man  souls  and  grows  while  he  dies 

And  this  life  never  satisfies. 

If  so  I  am  to  end 

When  I  am  gone, 
To  part  forever  with  my  friend 

And  my  gonfalon ; 
Never  my  Claudia  to  find 

I  so  waited  for; 
This  earth  just  the  tiger's  mind 

And  his  jouncing  jaw ; 
If  I  'm  to  leave  behind 

What  I  hungered  for 
Which  was  so  out  of  sight 

And  out  of  touch 
Because  the  Power  was  so  bright 

And  the  Heaven  so  much ; 
If  I  am  to  mix  my  soul 

With  all  that  is  dust, 
On  a  level  with  pewter  bowl. 

Less  than  the  grunting  gust, 
And  I  have  wilted  and  died. 

My  soul  gone  ungratified. 
Then  am  I  less  than  he 

That  glutted  his  whole  cupidity, 
My  small  melon-sucking  bee! 

So  I  grow  to  look 

Beyond  mountain-brook, 


Claudia  859 


Beyond  apricot-basket 

Or  closet-casket 
To  widen  my  sight  to  see 

Farther  than  mere  melon-bee, 
To  widen  my  heart  to  more 

Than  all  which  is  gone  before; 
So  I  reach  for  spirit-might 

By  my  practice  of  Right, 
Power  which  is  born  subtle  in  me 

As  is  divinity, 
This  Power  which  I  increase  in  life 

By  uncompromising  strife, 
Just  as  I  grow  an  arm 

By  dexterity  of  palm, 
Power  to  outmaster  masters. 

Overtop  a  world's  disasters, 
Smash  my  way  through  by  Right 

Always  to  new  greater  height 
To  come  to  greatness  beyond 

Gadflies  in  their  mullet-pond 
To  play  my  whole  soul 

In  such  noble  sphere 
As  I  find  nor  bole 

Nor  breath  of  here, 
Power  in  me  to  rise 

Loftier  than  yonder  skies 
So  I  reach  to  be 

All  there  is  of  me. 
So  I  compass  my  ends, 

All  ways,  all  thought, 
New  love,  old  friends, 

All  there  is  to  be  got, 
More  of  me  to  be 

Than  all  worlds  I  see, 


S6o  Claudia 

And 

Claudia  is  part  of  all 

Eternity  that  I  claim, 
'Though  I  never  knew  her  call, 

'Though  I  never  heard  her  name! 
I  know  I  am  passing  on, 

I  know  half  my  life  is  gone 
And  Claudia  may  not  be  bom ; 

Yet  is  she  sure  for  me 
As  is  my  eternity; 

Yet  shall  she  follow  on 
After  I  am  gone! 

Or  yet  may  she  be  here 

In  my  every  day, 
Near  me  as  song  is  near 

When  my  maples  play 
Their  robins  in  the  leaves, 

And  I  shall  have  her  one  superb  day — 
So  the  heart  of  the  world  achieves ! 

Or  yet  shall  she  find 
I  am  close  behind 

Where  she  is  gone  before. 
Is  beyond  me  and  more 

Than  I  may  see  with  my  bite 
Of  eyelash-light, 

And  I  'm  to  have  her  bye  and  bye 
Just  where  you  think  you  saw  me  die! 

Be  the  time  as  it  may, 

I  will  hold  to  my  confident  way — 
That  Right  is  Power  you  shall  see  some  day. 


THE  GENERAL 

To  the  drums, 

Rub-a-dub, 

Here  he  comes, 

King  of  cuts, 

Blows  and  butts, 
A  heel  and  toe  trip  to  his  struts, 

Rub-a-dub ; 

Beat  the  drums 

As  he  comes; 
'T  is  a  way,  so  they  said, 
He  buried  his  dead ; 

To  the  drums ! 

To  your  chimes, 

CHng-a-Hng, 

Ringing  rhymes! 

Choke  the  gongs 

Full  of  songs 
Till  they  put  a  new  ring  to  his  wrongs, 

Cling-a-ling !  • 

Peal  them  out 

To  a  shout; 
Your  great  General  is  here 
To  build  hope  out  of  fear — 

Ring  them  out! 
86l 


862  The  General 

To  the  guns, 

Rancour-boom, 

Spitting  suns! 

Settle  all 

By  a  ball! 
So  short — no  time  lost  thinking  at  all; 

Belch  your  guns, 

Swish  the  fire 

High  and  higher; 
'T  was  a  way  he  had 
To  smelt  good  out  of  bad, 

Gentle  sire! 


To  the  guns. 

Boom  them  out. 

Sires  and  sons ! 

What  of  fire. 

Blood  and  mire? 
Will  they  not  serve  to  mount  him  yet  higher? 

To  your  guns. 

Belch  them  loose 

For  God's  use! 
Blow  the  thunder  apart 
For  a  stroke  of  his  art 

To  confuse. 


Flap  the  flags, 
White  and  red. 
Shattered  rags. 
Bored  and  split 
Bit  by  bit 
Like  his  men  with  teeth  sown  in  a  pit ; 


The  General  863 


Hoist  the  flags — 

Red  and  white, 

That  is  right: 
Red  for  blood,  white  for  death, 
All  is  told  by  a  breath 

Of  his  blight. 


To  the  feast, 

Drain  your  cup 

To  its  least, 

'Though  they  sleep 

In  the  keep 
Of  a  ditch  after  all — 'though  they  sleep; 

Tipple  wine 

That  is  red 

To  the  bled; 
Will  they  listen  to  taste 
From  their  doom-darkened  waste 

Of  the  dead? 


Monk  and  priest, 

Ring  them  in 

To  your  feast ; 

To  the  cowl 

And  the  bowl, 
War  is  a  parting  of  body  and  soul ! 

Drink  for  drink. 

Human  hate 

Made  him  great! 
What  a  greatness  to  kill 
With  his  consummate  skill 

For  the  State! 


864  The  General 

To  the  dance 

Till  his  soul 

Reel  and  prance ! 

Let  him  feel, 

Head  and  heel, 
How  men  are  ranked  by  the  cut  of  their  steel ! 

Teach  him  that! 

Teach  him  war 

Is  a  door 
And  a  way  up  to  power 
By  the  light  of  the  hour 

As  before. 


Are  men  great 

Where  they  kill 

And  they  hate? 

Is  it  weak 

To  be  meek? 
Or  must  it  be  settled  all  in  a  week 

On  the  spot 

With  men's  blood 

In  the  mud? 
Was  there  no  other  way, 
Not  an  hour  for  delay 

To  make  good? 


Drop  your  flag 
To  half  mast, 
Drop  the  brag ! 
Solemn  slow 
As  you  go; 
Drop  the  strut  of  a  proud  heel  and  toe; 


The  General  865 


Death  is  death. 

What  was  war 

Fashioned  for? 
Not  for  glory  or  power 
By  your  Hght  of  the  hour 

As  before. 


Toll  the  chimes 

Deep  to  soft 

Without  rhymes! 

Let  a  swell 

Of  their  bell 
Lift  its  wail  to  the  pitch  of  death's  knell! 

They  are  gone, 

All  for  war 

And  what  for 
But  to  settle  disputes 
By  the  law  of  the  brutes 

As  before? 


Muffled  drums, 

Tap  them  light 

As  he  comes ! 

Chain  the  sound 

Within  bound 
At  a  thought  of  the  souls  underground; 

Softly  low 

Now  the  heart 

Does  its  part ! 
Did  he  kill? — lower  the  voice! 
Who  would  leap  to  rejoice 

At  his  art? 


RAISON  D'ETRE 

Once  was  a  man 
Who  took  a  mind  in  this  world  to  do 
What  best  he  could,  so  laid  him  a  plan 

To  be  brave  and  true 
To  himself  just  as  his  honest  thought, 
Nor  knuckled  to  what  the  others  taught — 
See  how  they  chopped  his  dream  in  two ! 

There  was  a  church — 
He  must  think  their  way  to  do  their  trick 
Of  "thumbs  up,"  a  la  candlestick, 

Play  parrot  on  a  perch 

To  quobble  and  bob 

Like  a  nincom-nob 
Lest  they  leap  to  put  him  in  the  lurch. 

There  was  a  law 
Most  men  think  worth  pigging  for: 
He  must  part  his  hair  to  a  certain  crease 
Which  makes  heads  famous  for  their  fleece, 

Put  a  bell-shape  to  his  pants 
Or  keep  single,  lose  his  chance 
At  women  and  mighty  circumstance. 

There  was  a  way 
Men  took  to  following  what  was  good 
A  thousand  years  before  the  flood — 
866 


Raison  d'Etre  867 

He  must  pickle,  must  skulk  and  pray, 
Mind  what  others  do  and  say, 
Ask  not  the  "why"  of  it  nor  "whether," 
Or  get  his  flight  clipped  in  the  feather. 

Once  was  a  book — 
He  must  take  it  to  stuff  his  youth. 
Never  a  wink  at  it  once  to  look 
To  see  if  it  spilled  a  slop  of  truth — 
Let  the  bait  be  sorry  pulp, 
Sculpin-like  he  shall  take  the  hook, 
Measure  soul  by  the  swallow-gulp ! 

Now  came  the  school — 
My  little  man  must  bend  his  back 
To  the  wink-wise  master's  thunder-quack — 
Was  he  not  ruler  and  rule 
To  model  spirit  keen  and  thin. 
Give  me  the  lordliness  of  shin 
And  hoodwink  of  a  capuchin? 

Next  is  the  bell — 
I  am  rung  in  and  rung  out, 
Choked  by  precept,  left  in  doubt. 
In  lust  of  Heaven,  in  fear  of  Hell — 

And  what  now  is  to  do, 
Looking  about  in  the  morning  blue. 
To  make  me  master  through  and  through? 

"  First  is  the  man 
To  be  free  to  be  most  he  can, 
Himself  just  and  no  aping ; 
Best  is  the  shape  which  is  self-shaping, 

Power  on  the  spirit-plan ; 

Whoso  would  only  copy 
Grows  scarce  a  genius  of  the  poppy. 


868  Raison  d'Etre 

Freedom  for  man ! 
The  one  thing  first  in  the  world  to  grip 
For  growth,  for  more  place  and  span, 
Nor  a  curl  of  your  priest-dominion-lip — 
Yet  is  Power  put  up  to  be  put  down, 
As  gold  lips  conquer  the  cloud  of  frown, 
As  only  the  storm  wears  a  rainbow-crown. 

See  how  the  hours 
Of  life  are  full  of  opposing  Powers, 
Priest  and  Poverty  and  Death 
Scarce  willing  you  should  draw  a  breath — 
There  's  the  glory  in  it  to  see 
If  you  can  overcome  the  three 
To  rise  to  government  mastery ! 

Man  shall  be  free 
As  the  lintie  sings  in  his  singing  bough. 
Careless  of  what  the  end  may  be 
Or  why  he  sings  so  now, 
Only  that  he  shall  wake  his  tree 
To  rapture,  that  he  may  free 
His  heart  of  his  wildest  wizard-glee ! 

Is  it  not  so 
Ye  cannot  by  any  thinking  know 
More  than  that  a  man  shall  be 
Most  in  him  for  loftiest  best, 
Which  he  may  not,  save  that  he  be  free 
To  make  his  whole  soul  manifest. 

And  devil  take  the  rest 

Of  your  Power  or  Law 
You  monk-men  crush  a  brother  for, 
Just  for  your  kingdom  of  Power  and  Law- 


Raison  cl'Etre  869 

As  if  a  man  were  not  meant  to  be 
His  own  high  priest  and  majesty, 
Nor  a  thought  of  you,  nor  a  smutch 
Of  your  toad-stool  altar's  venom-touch ! 

Think  you  of  Power, 
How  the  thing  is  meant  to  be  overcome, 

Not  to  put  me  to  cower. 
To  pinch  my  lip  up,  to  strike  me  dumb, 
Nor  yet  to  bring  me  to  my  knees 
For  worship  or  to  appease. 

Put  me  to  beg  and  hum ! 

I  'm  to  be  man 
Not  by  your  whimpering  coward-plan 
To  duck  under,  cock  up  a  lip 
To  whine  lest  I  let  my  Heaven  slip. 

To  thumb  your  pipe-organ  praise, 

Look  the  lap-dog  look  of  amaze — 
Love  is  the  bent  of  these  latter  days. 

To  fight— to  fight 
For  the  man  in  you  and  Beautiful  Right — 

To  seize  life  by  the  hour 
To  love  and  overcome  and  acquire  Power — 
You  your  own  Majesty  of  Law 
To  wing-broaden  and  soul-soar — 
There  's  the  thing  in  life  worth  being  for! 


A  SONG  IN  A  THISTLE 


Pretty  bird, 

What  I  heard 

Was  a  whistle 

From  the  blushes 

Of  a  thistle 

Where  the  thrush  is; 

What  I  saw 

Was  a  quiver 

Of  a  claw, 

Was  the  gripple 

Of  a  throat 

For  the  ripple 

Of  a  note 

Through  the  hushes 

Where  the  thrush  is — 
There  was  orange,  melon,  blue; 
How  the  sky-stripes  ribboned  you ! 

II 

Sky-blown  bird. 
First  I  heard 
Just  a  flutter 
In  a  nettle 
And  a  mutter. 
Saw  you  settle, 
870 


A  Song  in  a  Thistle  871 

Now  you  came 

Like  the  quiver 

Of  a  flame 

Where  the  needle 

Pricked  your  foot, 

Saw  you  tweedle 

At  the  shoot, 

Spread  to  settle 

In  the  nettle — 
Not  a  note  of  you  was  heard 
And  the  sting  there,  pretty  bird! 

Ill 

What  a  bird! 

Once  I  heard 

How  you  carol, 

Trip  to  whistle 

Light  and  feral 

Above  thistle. 

Trap  or  tree; 

Not  a  quiver 

To  your  glee, 

But  such  singing 

Souling  throat 

For  the  ringing 

Of  a  note 

Through  the  iris 

Where  the  fire  is ! — 
All  sky-blue  took  to  singing 
Now  the  heart  in  you  was  ringing. 

IV 

Plucky  bird, 
Spirit-spurred 


872  A  Song  in  a  Thistle 


To  abandon 
Peace  for  foment, 
Put  a  hand  on, 
For  the  moment, 
Handsome  thorn, 
Try  the  sliver 
Of  a  scorn, 
Clap  a  nettle 
Under  wing. 
Keep  your  settle, 
Hug  the  sting, 
Stop  your  singing 
For  the  stinging — 
But  the  bird  of  you  was  there. 
Passion-throated,  fashion-fair. 


Just  a  touch, 

Quite  as  much 

As  was  needed 

Of  the  lushes 

To  be  heeded 

Where  the  thrush  is, 

Plum  and  bell ! 

There  was  apple 

In  a  dell, 

Amaryllis, 

Coriander 

Where  my  rill  is 

And  germander. 

Patrimony, 

Flower  of  honey — 
But  you  must  face  the  picket! 
Put  a  foot  there,  flower  will  prick  it! 


A  Song  in  a  Thistle  873 


VI 

How  could  you, 
Gold  and  blue, 
Made  for  winging 
Above  weather. 
Tuned  to  ringing, 
Spirit  feather 
Fine  and  free,        ' 
Take  to  dropping 
Down  to  me, 
Take  a  yarrow 
By  the  sting. 
Clap  an  arrow 
Under  wing 
For  the  skull  dearth 
Of  this  dull  earth, 
You  who  knew  a  sweeter  thing 
In  your  round  clean  robin  ring? 

VII 

Meadow  rang 
Where  you  sang 
Of  your  freedom 
To  be  free 
From  this  treedom 
For  a  glee 
And  a  sweep 
To  the  deepening 
Of  the  deep 
Where  your  pillow 
Dips  and  runs 
On  a  billow-wash 
Of  suns, 


874  A  Song  in  a  Thistle 

Only  winging 
To  be  singing, 
And  the  best  of  you  is  heard 
Above  meadows,  pretty  bird. 

VIII 

Next  I  heard 
How  you  stirred 
Through  the  thistle 
For  one  piping 
Of  a  whistle, 
Saw  you  wiping 
Half  a  wing, 
Get  to  throbbing 
Just  to  sing, 
Cock  a  lip  up 
For  a  song, 
Fetch  a  tip-up 
Straight  and  strong 
In  the  brushes 
Where  the  thrush  is — 
You  were  singing  once  again 
And  the  dagger-dab  was  vain 

IX 

Since  you  knew 
It  was  true 
You  could  rise  on 
Wing  and  ether 
And  horizon 
Like  a  breather 
Of  the  stars, 
Like  a  follower 
Of  Mars, 


A  Song  in  a  Thistle  875 

Drop  the  thistle, 

Prick  and  thong, 

For  the  whistle 

Of  a  song 

With  Osiris 

Where  the  fire  is, 
Pin  your  ribbons  to  a  sky,       * 
Pour  a  soul  without  a  sigh ! 


THE  HEEL  OF  THE  HUNT 

Step  to  the  stirrup, 

Stick  to  the  back, 

Snap  up  the  snaffle, 

Tighten  the  slack, 

Lash  at  the  buttocks, 

Club  at  the  snout, 

A  jab  at  the  spurs 

Till  blood  spurt  out; 
"By  Heaven  I  '11  teach  him  to  dance  in  air 
Now  the  pride  of  the  hunt  comes,  my  lady  the  fair, " 

Back  to  his  haunches, 

Paws  in  the  wind 

To  spar  at  nothing, 

He  snorted,  whined. 

Foamed  at  two  snipping 

Chains  in  his  teeth, 

Nettled  to  plunging 

Hell  on  the  heath ; 
Stepped  him  a  waltz  to  one  end  of  the  green 
So  churning  of  foam  into  blood  should  be  seen. 

Call  to  your  partners. 
Whip  in  the  hounds, 
Rattle  your  fox  out 
Over  the  bounds ; 
876 


The  IIccl  of  the  Hunt  877 

Grapple  to  horses, 

Spurs  to  their  flanks, 

Let  slip  the  bloodhounds. 

Wallop  their  shanks, 
Cut  the  hell  loose  over  ditches  and  walls. 
And  damned  be  the  dog  horse  or  rider  that  falls ! 

In  over  cross-roads, 

Log-hills,  pits. 

Run  down  the  red-skin, 

Kill  him  by  bits 

Thumping  his  heart  out 

Pleading  to  rocks; 

Seize  on  him,  bloodies. 

Only  a  fox 
God  made  to  be  stripped  of  his  small  red  heart — 
Break  his  back,  snufi  him  out  for  triumph  of  art! 

Yet  our  dogs  veered  off 

To  left  and  right. 

Wandered  away  up 

Stream  out  of  sight, 

Hating  to  spill  him 

Fighting  in  flocks, 

Hating  to  kill  him, 

One  little  fox 
Alone  for  his  life,  nor  friend  at  his  back. 
The  ladies  and  lords  of  all  hell  on  his  track ! 

Drive  in  the  sluggards, 
Leash  them  to  trees. 
Teach  them  here  is  no 
"Go  as  you  please"; 


878  The  Heel  of  the  Hunt 

Off  with  your  jackets, 

Out  with  the  whips, 

Thrash  to  slash  their 

Dull  hides  into  strips ; 
Let  them  see  stars  till  they  see  what  to  do, 
And  we  '11  teach  them,  by  Heaven,  just  a  lesson  or  two! 

Now  for  a  hanging. 

Gallows  in  sight ! 

Pick  out  the  Leader, 

Collar  him  tight, 

String  him  there  slowly, 

High  into  air; — 

See  him,  you  flunkies. 

Floundering  there? 
Get  the  point  do  you? — such  lesson  is  old: 
Better  drum  up  your  senses  to  go  as  you  're  told! 

Away  once  again, 

The  bold  to  the  front, 

Leaping  to  plunging. 

Proud  of  the  brunt, 

Capturing  chasms, 

Thickets,  swamps, 

To  kick  a  wide  world  into 

Dust  on  their  romps — 
After  him,  snifT  him  out,  hound  him  out,  hounds; 
Finest  art  for  art's  sake — what  art  has  its  bounds? 

I  loitered  behind. 
Watched  for  a  chance. 
Severed  the  hang-rope, 
Looked  for  a  glance. 


The  Heel  of  the  Hunt  879 

Loosened  the  collar, 

Smoothed  the  head  back, 

Balm  at  his  nostrils 

Smothered  the  rack, 
Caught  him  up,  poured  him  my  flagon  of  wine 
As  the  eyes  brought  a  message  from  his  soul  to  mine. 

Two  brothers  were  by. 

Whipped  nearly  to  death ; 

I  bathed  them,  swathed  them, 

Helped  them  to  breath; 

One  under  each  arm, 

Brave  Leader  in  front, 

We  took  to  the  saddle 

And  heel  of  the  hunt; 
All  three  now  close  to  me,  arm  in  arm, 
As  we  galloped  by  paddock  and  thicket  and  farm. 

The  sun  was  dipped  down. 

Half  smothered  in  rud, 

Smeared  to  the  rim 

Like  a  bucket  of  blood ; 

Sudden  a  new  heart 

Panted  behind, 

Throbbed  one  low  thin 

Gasp  at  the  wind. 
Stopped  as  we  stopped,  as  right  there  by  near 
Young  Rennard  himself  fetched  up  in  the  rear. 

Such  eyes  strained  through 
Such  soul's  fine  rain 
Of  tears  swallowed  down 
In  the  heart  again 


88o  The  Heel  of  the  Hunt 

As  he  reeled  to  sink 

In  one  low  last  lair 

As  if  he  knew  well 

How  friends  were  there. 
Nor  would  I  barter  his  look  to  me  then 
For  a  wave  of  your  rounded-up  plaudits  of  men. 

To  horse  once  again, 

Rennard  and  all, 

As  we  answered  a  ring 

Of  the  night-horn's  call, 

Galloping  straight  away 

Back  to  the  start; 

And  they  may  have  it. 

Sport  without  heart ! 
But  give  me,  instead  of  a  place  at  the  front 
On  your  playfield  of  slaughter,  the  heel  of  the  hunt! 


PRUNELLA'S  PRIEST 

One  Supreme  God  is  man 

Of  his  own  part,  in  his  matchless  circle, 

He  not  a  stitch  of  your  marionette-plan 

To  bring  him  down  to  his  jingling  least 

By  an  altar-trick  or  quirkle, 

You  gorming  gulping  priest. 

So  you  may  train  him  to  follow, 

To  double  under  and  wallow 

In  your  anaconda-swallow! 

I  MEAN  you,  you  lynx-eyed  priest, 

You  soul  and  belly  of  a  beast 
To  argue  men  shall  be  policed 

By  ignorance,  by  fear,  to  put 
Each  one  his  conscience  under  your  foot. 

His  right  to  think  his  way 
Under  your  dog-monster  play, 

To  crowd  out  of  him,  next  to  nil, 
His  man-shape  of  magic  will — 

Slavery  for  man,  duck-under-dom. 
So  your  power  and  kingdom  come ! 

Priest-Day  and  Priest-Craft  Day, 
Yet  all  in  the  world  you  could  say 

Is  "Bow  down  to  gape  and  wonder, 
God  is  in  the  split  of  thunder, 

Knuckle  down  and  knock  under. 
No  priest  ever  made  a  blunder!" 
56  881 


Prunella's  Priest 

Omnipotent  man  is  the  man  I  sing, 
Goodliness  all  for  love  of  the  thing, 
Never  his  nose  to  wear  your  ring ! 

What  a  pretty  thing  it  is 

Of  a  summer  day 
You  to  watch  a  maiden  play 

Where  the  honeysuckles  hiss 
In  a  west  wind,  she  to  have  her  way 

To  go  and  come  and  sing, 
Light  of  heart  as  forests  ring 

Or  any  songster  on  the  wing! 

Never  thought  of  wrong  is  hers 

Nor  whistling  wind  demurs 
'Though  she  only  sings  herself, 

What  she  is — the  siren  elf — 
Such  a  little  silver  laugh 

To  put  me  longing, 
Stops  the  chewink  at  his  songing 

That  he  may  hark  and  quaff. 

On  such  a  summer  day 

See  her  pass 
To  watch  the  meadow-pipit  play. 

Fetch  his  tumble  in  the  grass. 
Dance  like  joy  to  look 

To  see  her  shadow  in  his  brook, 
As  if  the  whole  sky  tried 

To  catch  her  picture  before  she  died! 

Who  would  mask  her  face 

To  swamp  such  life. 
Hide  her  in  his  dungeon-place, 

Mother  never  nor  gentle  wife, 


Prunella's  Priest  883 

White  petals  in  place  of  lips 

And  Death  there  perches  and  sips, 
Save  you,  you  lynx-eyed  priest, 

You  soul  and  belly  of  a  beast? 

Prunella  was  such  a  girl 

To  amble  like  a  wren  in  a  cloud, 
Notes  of  song  which  could  thirl 

To  the  echo,  as  all  sky  was  loud 
Of  the  unmolested  spirit  of  her — 

All  the  world  would  love  to  love  her. 


Soon  as  her  day  came  to  love 

She  must  stoop  to  confess! 
Goodness  is  not  enough. 

She  must  be  something  less, 
Since  never  she  could  be  more 

Than  perfect  heart  to  the  spirit-core! 
There  were  you  in  your  spider-coop, 

There  was  she  too  to  stoop, 
And  all  to  confess  to  you 

She  was  gentle  and  true 
As  love  is,  and  she  loved  too, 

Her  prime  patronymic  sin. 
So  now  her  troubles  begin: 

How  like  a  demon  you  scored  her, 
How  like  a  God  you  adored  her ! 

How  you  tried  to  force  his  name, 
Her  man  she  loved  her  girlful  way, 

Yet  not  a  syllable  came, 
Nothing  of  him  she  had  to  say. 

And  so  you  made  your  judgment. 
This  piece  of  weak  begrudgment : 


884  Prunella's  Priest 

Priest 

I  know  this  man  you  mean  to  wed, 

So  this  much  I  say  to  you: 
As  well  might  you  be  dead, 

Put  in  purgatory  too. 
For  he  makes  bold  to  strike  the  Church, 

To  put  us  in  the  lurch, 
Is  wrong  to  the  rib-end  too. 

No  companion  fit  for  you. 
Wed  him,  and  you  have  your  deserts. 

You  drop  your  Hope-of- Heaven  thought 
For  one  consummate  sorrow  lot, 

Your  place  outside  our  church! 

Prunella 

How  willingly  now  I  leave 

Your  church,  I  who  believe 
In  love,  while  here  is  every  art 

Put  in  practice,  and  not  a  heart! 
I  hark  to  the  highest  voice, 

There  's  my  choice; 
I  lean  to  the  sweetest  word 

Ear  ever  heard ; 
I  look  to  the  finest  thought 

Spirit  has  wrought:       , 
Love,  which  is  lord  of  all, 

Great  or  small ; 
Love,  which  has  mastered  kings 

At  the  throne  of  things; 
Love,  and  I  tell  you  what. 

You  know  it  not, 
You  who  double  to  your  knees 

Your  God  to  please, 


Prunella's  Priest  885 

You  who  snivel  to  whine 

For  your  soul  and  mine, 
Beg  like  a  pauper  for  what 

Is  denied  you  not, 
Power  to  grow  great  as  a  man 

Would  be  or  can, 
Power  to  strike  straightly  for  free 

As  a  kite  in  his  tree, 
High  above  heatherbell  sod, 

High  true  as  a  God. 

Haphazard  Day, 

Over  and  away, 

I  fly  forth 

Into  east  or  north, 

I  dart  high 

Into  pointed  sky, 

Or  down  I  look 

In  my  chromo-brook. 

In  whit^d  air 

For  the  rudeness 

Or  the  goodness 

Which  is  there — 

Haphazard  Day 

And  I  away 

To  be  free 

To  cut  my  path 

Into  aftermath — 

I  look  to  see, 

I  look  for  thee 

Where  song  is  flung 

Above  lip  or  tongue. 

Where  thought  is  tied 

To  the  other  side 


880  Prunella's  Priest 

Of  worlds  I  see 
In  immensity — 
On  yonder  stair 
Of  the  freehold  air 
Blown  everywhere 
You  are  not  there — 
Where  Leo  runs 
His  wheel  of  suns 
Against  time 
I  see  him  climb — 
Where  Propus  props 
The  sky  nor  stops 
At  crumbling  tops, 
Round  is  the  air 
As  heaven  is  fair, 
Yet  you  are  not  there! 

Priest 

But  here,  and  God  to  be  glorified ! 

For  that  has  man  lived  and  died, 
I  to  bow  down  in  the  sod, 

Smallen  me  to  greaten  God, 
God  to  be  worshipped,  while  so 

I  make  humble  in  brow  and  toe 
For  God's  sake,  as  who  does  not  know 

God  has  made  and  would  have  it  so? 
What  shall  be  greater  than  I 

Bow  me  down  in  shank  and  eye 
To  glorify  God  in  his  sky? 

What  shall  be  greater  than  I 
Come  to  my  whimper  and  sigh 

To  beg  a  lift  of  divinity? 
Or  what  shall  be  greater  than  this. 


Prunella's  Priest  88.7 

Heaven  for  me,  one  spanking  bliss, 
I  not  a  snuff  of  it  to  miss? 

Prunella 

'T  is  greater  to  be  great, 

To  be  master  of  any  fate, 
Master  and  master  at  any  rate ! 

What  goes  there  great  that  you, 
Your  nose  buckled  to  your  shoe, 

Duck  the  duck  of  a  cockatoo? 
What  God  is  there  shall  be  pleased 

That  you  have  wheezed  and  sneezed 
Humility  that  he  may  be  pleased? 

What  God  is  there  would  shackle 
Head  and  beak  so  you  only  cackle? 

What  God  is  there  to  fatten 
If  he  see  you  crawl  and  flatten? 

What  God  is  there  would  not,  too, 
Make  another  God  of  you? 

But  how  to  be  God  and  be  pauper  too 
In  the  soul  of  you? 

How  to  see  Truth  like  an  eye-ball  clear 
And  you  quobble  for  fear? 

How  to  stand  straight  and  bow  over, 
Put  soul  under  cover? 

There  's  the  God  of  you  to  be 
Much  as  any  soul  may  see. 

High  undominated  free! 
There  's  the  God  of  you  to  know 

All  there  is  above,  below. 
More  to  come  to,  more  to  grow! 

There  's  the  God  of  you  to  soar 
High  above  what  went  before, 

More  to  compass,  more  and  more ! 


888  Prunella's  Priest 

There  's  the  God  of  you  to  fasten 

Fingers  where  starfields  vasten, 
Moonways  glassen! 

What  is  there  that  you  shall  do 
Just  to  prove  the  God  in  you 

Like  noble  being,  mastiff-true? 
What  Heaven  is  for  you  you  shall  gain 

Like  the  soul  of  you  put  plain 
For  perfect  man  and  not  a  stain? 

What  is  there  in  worlds  above 
Fills  this  endless  soul  enough 

Like  human  greatness,  human  love? 

Priest 

God  is  great,  I  am  small, 

I  am  nothing,  He  is  all, 
So  what  were  greater,  when  all  is  said. 

Than  I  humble  me  instead, 
Than  I  beg  my  daily  bread? 

Prunella 

Greater  much  that  you  earn  it ! 

Here  's  one  truth,  you  to  learn  it: 
Never  's  a  God  in  all  the  all 

Loves  that  you  be  humbled,  small, 
To  know  you  wince  to  blubber. 

Double  like  a  thumb  of  rubber. 
To  put  you  leaning  on  Power — 

There  's  the  violettcd  flower, 
Head  against  giant  storm, 

Mouth  up  to  the  shower, 
Holds  its  own  way  and  form ; 


Prunella's  Priest  889 

Straight  as  truth  it  will  stand, 
Climbs  always  to  leave  the  land 

So  the  sweetest  purple-worth 
And  best  of  it  shall  have  birth 

Safe  above  all  grasping  earth, 
And  not  a  God's  hand  to  drown 

Or  hold  the  splendor  of  it  down. 

Priest 

Yet  is  God  mighty  and  mightiest 
By  all  wisdom  and  all  best. 

Prunella 

Not  that,  oh  vanity-brother, 

But  wholly  surely  something  other 
Than  man  is  or  may  think 

To  think  of  by  his  cat- wise  wink. 
Other  than  good  or  better  or  best. 

Other  than  any  mightiest 
You  know  of  or  may  think  of 

To  get  your  little  lousy  wink  of. 
Great  is  God  as  His  endless  sphere, 

Great  be  you  in  your  hemisphere, 
God  too,  not  a  nerve  to  cower, 

Conqueror  of  each  militant  hour 
To  love,  outmaster,  acquire  Power. 

Comes  the  whole  mankind  of  weaning, 
Only  weakness  comes  of  leaning, 

So  why  this  maudlin  chapel-yelp, 
This  under-dog  whining  of  a  whelp 

Always  and  always  for  heaven  and  help? 

Priest 
Nor  worship  of  God,  would  you  say? 


890  Prunella's  Priest 

Prunella 

Worship  is  love  by  any  way 

You  shall  grow  greatness  in  you, 
Noblest  greatness  to  be  or  do 

Your  best  life  uttermost  and  you  man 
For  all  loftiness  all  you  can, 

All  straightening  and  no  crawling. 
All  greatening  and  no  smalling, 

Supreme  boldness  of  fine  feeling, 
All  heightening  and  no  kneeling, 

Not  the  one  hairful  of  fear, 
Not  the  one  cock  of  an  ear 

To  that  Bishop  who  fastens  you  down, 
Finds  God  governs  by  His  frown, 

You  above  priestliness  to  know 
The  God  in  you  will  have  it  so 

You  shall  be  master  all  your  way 
Of  Beauty  as  the  ewe-go  wans  play 

Or  puffins  in  a  yellow  day, 
Nor  a  fillip  for  what  those  Bishops  say! 

Is  not  your  true  life  of  love 
Of  man  and  God  true  worship  enough? 

Priest 

Ah,  but  all  men  were  meant  to  die 
Out  of  this  every-day  sky! 

Prunella 

So  are  men  meant  to  live. 

Meant  to  take  and  give. 
To  joy  or  suffer  for  strength 

Anyhow,  any  length. 


Prunella's  Priest  891 

So  what  you  think  hard  or  wrong 

Puts  you  each  day  each  way  strong 
For  manHness,  which  is  godhness, 

While  never  the  thumb-tap  less 
Would  bring  you  to  it  to  do 

Your  royallest,  wrought  of  you, 
Would  bring  you  to  it  to  be 

More  than  men  may  look  to  to  see. 
Not  for  God,  but  for  man  is  this  earth; 

Not  for  God,  but  for  man  is  this  birth 
Of  Beauty  I  see  around 

In  every  sky,  in  every  ground 
To  grow  to,  become  part  of 

Other  being  beyond  it, 
You  unmanacled,  unbonded 

By  power  to  throw  off  chains 
Of  monarchy  by  man  or  God 

To  get  above  pains  or  gains, 
To  circle  above  this  sod 

Of  your  poltroonish  fears, 
Above  lickspittle  tricks  of  whining  tears 

To  invite  Power  to  come  your  way — 
Is  spirit  meant  to  creep  and  pray? 

Priest 

Is  not  God  in  His  sky 

As  infinity  is  high? 

Prunella 

Love  God  I  may,  bow  down  to  Him  I  will  not! 

Put  that  fire  in  your  gabata-pot 
To  see  if  you  get  a  new  light, 

See  man  put  under  no  heel  of  might 


892  Prunella's  Priest 

By  authority  to  shape  him  this  way,  that  way- 

As  if  I  'm  to  follow  your  clumsy  cat-say ! 
God  in  His  heaven,  I  in  mine, 

I  to  let  m}^  star-night  shine 
Undominioned,  co-divine! 

God  to  His  infinity, 
I  my  blessed  sight  to  see 

He  would  make  no  slave  of  me! 
God  to  His  power,  I  to  mine 

My  way  I  was  meant  to  incline, 
And  no  twig  in  your  columbine, 

No  part  of  your  lily-pad  pluck 
Which  lies  fiat,  face  up-stuck 

As  if  afraid  of  sun-shine  luck, 
I  of  myself  to  strike 

With  the  light  wing  of  a  shrike 
For  loftiness  God-fashion-like ! 

God  would  greaten  me  to  my  greatest. 
Therefore  do  I  stand  my  straightest. 

Never  the  pebbleful  of  fear 
But  in  my  human  hemisphere 

I  shall  master  my  righteous  all. 
Be  it  large  as  you  or  small. 

Come  to  my  crown-royal  core 
Of  king  aye  kinglier  than  before, 

And  what  God  governs  to  complish  more? 

Priest 

Reigns  there  no  government  of  God 
In  this  ball  of  sod? 

Prunella 

Power  unto  power, 
I  unto  me 


Prunella's  Priest  893 

By  each  bulbous  hour 

For  mastery 

To  ply  my  art 

Of  soul  and  heart, 

To  play  my  part 

Beyond  the  nod 

Of  fearful  fool, 

Beyond  the  rule 

Of  any  God 

And  I  strike  high 

Against  his  sky. 

Beyond  the  rod 

Of  any  God 

To  trick  my  knack, 

Break  my  back. 

And  I  my  breath 

To  laugh  at  death, 

I  my  power 

To  make  for  Might 

Each  laurel  hour 

By  way  of  Right, 

I  my  glove 

And  arm  enough 

To  strike  for  love, 

I  my  soul, 

The  elf  of  me, 

Unkingdomed  whole 

High  self  of  me 

To  gain  my  goal 

Of  mastery. 

Nor  ever  look 

In  your  blindfold  book 

You  clap  on  me 

That  I  may  not  see. 


894  Prunella's  Priest 

Nor  one  small  fear 

To  make  my  way 

By  conscience  clear 

Beyond  your  clay 

Of  vulgar  dreams, 

Your  Heaven  to  pay 

As  merit  seems, 

Your  Glory-Day, 

Your  piggish  schemes 

To  grow  men  great 

By  bribe  or  threat, 

Your  Hell  to  hate, 

Your  Heaven  to  get, 

As  if  this  soul  were  cold, 

Hungered  for  the  wipe  of  gold. 

Hungered  to  be  bought  and  sold 

And  not  to  love, 

Which  is  gain  enough. 

Not  to  grow, 

Which  is  all  I  know, 

Not  to  be  free. 

Which  is  royalty, 

While  so  you  plod, 

Whimper  to  God,    . 

Fashion  you  see 

Divinity  ,i' 

In  bended  knee. 

Fashion  you  tower 

To  spirit-power 

By  what  you  cower, 

By  lifted  palm, 

Psalming  qualm, 

Shackled  arm. 

While  I  shall  rise 


Prunella's  Priest  895 

Against  my  skies 
Gyrfalcon-wise, 
Nor  a  God  to  put 
Me  under  foot 
While  I  climb  to  shove 
My  flight  above 
Your  trembling  perch, 
Your  fawning  church. 

Priest 

Grow  not  all  things  for  God, 

Circles  of  worlds,  Dorado's  nod, 
Dew-fall  in  the  primping  sod? 

Prunella 

Grow  all  things  their  best  to  be, 

There  's  your  best  divinity, 
God  in  you,  God  in  me! 

Look  the  universes  through. 
What  goes  there  to  get  or  do 

Better  than  the  best  of  you? 
Looks  God  once  for  fawnery 

Of  limp-hump  or  prayer  or  sigh, 
Not  for  my  foremost  I  shall  do 

For  what  is  masterfullest  true 
Of  me  by  my  own  trick  and  cue? 

Where  for  you  is  your  nobler  plan 
In  any  God's  meridian 

Than  mastering  and  unmastered  man? 
Not  for  God  is  this  life. 

But  ail-forcefully  for  man. 
He  by  loftiness  of  strife 


896  Prunella's  Priest 

To  make  of  him  his  most, 
To  circum-widen  his  span 

To  yonder  unending  coast 
Of  vast  creations,  only  to  see 

More  of  him  to  grow  to  to  be 
By  one  wide  scheme  of  mastery, 

Integrity  of  sovd  his  crown, 
Not  a  God  to  hold  him  down, 

Not  a  God  to  order  so 
Soul  should  ever  cease  to  grow, 

Not  a  God  to  govern  me. 
Take  my  bow,  my  crooked  knee, 

I  the  God  of  me  to  be, 
I  my  own  divinity! 

Priest 

Is  there,  then,  no  government 
Of  the  world? 

Prunella 

Such  government  of  Beautiful  Laws, 

By  effect  and  cause. 
As  never  a  God  shall  stem 

The  monarchy  of  them. 
As  never  a  God  shall  clew 

His  hand  against  you, 
God  in  his  kingdom,  I  in  mine 

For  such  power 
As  hangs  my  Santenay  vine 

In  mountain  flower. 
For  such  power  as  I  shall  swing 

By  my  blossoming 
My  cheek  red,  my  heart  high 


Prunella's  Priest  S97 

As  the  heliotrope  sky 
To  run  above  earth,  to  make  free 

With  sublimity, 
To  make  vast  with  my  soul 

As  the  endless  whole. 
Nor  a  God  to  put  me  here  or  there 

By  his  cunning  care, 
Nor  a  God  to  make  of  me  dupe, 

To  give  me  my  stoop, 
Nor  a  God  to  have  me  to  know 

Your  one  way  to  go, 
Nor  a  God  to  put  me  shrinking 

For  fear  of  his  blinking, 
Nor  a  God  to  govern  my  ways, 

Shorten  my  days. 
Nor  a  God  to  list  for  my  whining, 

For  my  chining. 
Nor  a  God  to  meddle  with  me 

In  my  egotry 
To  go  my  way  my  royallest. 

Never  your  way  nor  loyallest. 
Nor  a  God  I  shall  bend  my  knuckles  to 

To  pleasen  his  view. 
Satisfy  you. 

Nor  a  God  in  anywhere  to  decree 
Subserviency  of  me, 

But  God  out  of  all  time  and  space 
And  beautiful  place, 

Never  his  hand  at  a  cause 
But  by  Beautiful  Laws, 

Never  his  voice  to  be  heard 
Save  in  tree-beam  or  bird. 

Or  where  the  west  wind  ties  a  whistle 
In  ground-pine  or  thistle, 


898  Prunella's  Priest 

Never  his  hand  in  time  to  be  seen 
Save  where  the  suns  are  sheen, 

Planets  green, 
Beauty  endless  king  and  queen — 

God  for  me  I  may  conquer,  acquire, 
God  higher  ever  and  ever  higher 

Than  where  the  suns  are  fire, 
Constellations  spire — 

But  not  God  ever  to  trick  with  me 
In  my  divinity. 

Not  God  ever  to  fumble  with  you 
In  the  thing  you  do. 

In  your  high  masterful  compound  place 
Where  you  run  your  regent-race, 

Where  you  make  surmounting  cause 
To  mount  to  power,  laugh  at  loss, 

By  homage  to  Beautiful  Laws, 
You  omnipotent  in  your  sphere 

By  virtue  of  virtue 
To  dominate  this  now  and  here. 

Never  God  to  help  or  hurt  you — 
There  is  your  garden  of  power,  oh  my  brother, 

No  other,  as  God  lives,  there  is  no  other 
Than  homage  to  such  Beautiful  Laws, 

Effect  and  cause. 
As  you  may  not  put  aside 

In  the  soul  inside. 
More  than  in  yonder  spaces 

Where  worlds  are  wheels  to  know  their  places 
To  spin,  to  glisten  and  burn 

Endless  climbing  fire  supem 
For  always  creations  wider,  higher. 

New  worlds  breathing  out  of  fire — 
What  universe  holds  an  urn? 


Prunella's  Priest  899 

Priest 

Is  man,  then,  in  his  hourful 
Of  life  all  powerful? 

Prunella 

"Be  ye  therefore  perfect"  in  your  sphere 

(Perfect  is  he  who  does  his  best) 
And  this  one  thing  of  you  is  clear: 

You  have  been  put  to  such  a  test 
As  ranks  you  most  and  mightiest: 

Perfect  man, 
Perfect  power! 
There  's  the  plan, 
Here  's  the  hour! 
Circumstance 
Gives  you  chance, 
You  to  choose 
The  first  of  you, 
You  to  lose 
The  worst  of  you 
As  life  goes  on. 
Night  and  dawn, 
Ditch  and  lawn 
To  put  the  test,  ' 
Bare  your  breast. 
Strike  you  down, 
Stand  you  straight, 
Snatch  your  crown, 
Smash  your  fate. 
Come  by  stealth. 
Sap  your  wealth, 


goo  Prunella's  Priest 

Pick  your  eyes  out, 
Put  your  size  out 
In  the  world 
Where  you  fashioned 
And  were  passioned, 
Proud  and  pearled, 
Let  the  sliver 
Spit  you  through, 
Let  the  quiver 
Turn  you  blue, 
Learn  the  terror 
Of  an  error, 
Learn  the  power 
Of  a  flower 
Now  it  freckles 
Fire-new, 
Now  it  speckles 
Water-blue 
To  play  its  part. 
Capture  heart, 
Capture  the  eyes 
And  size 
Of  you — 
Man  for  master, 
Man  for  king. 
Always  vaster 
Reckoning, 
Always  Beauty 
Beckoning 
Power  to  you. 
Power  to  grow, 
Power  to  do, 
Power  to  know, 
Never  leaning 


Prunella's  Priest  901 

On  a  God, 
Ever  weaning 
From  this  sod, 
Man  for  master, 
For  forecaster, 
Man  the  God! 

Priest 

Omnipotent,  then,  would  you  say, 
Man  is  in  his  thicket-day? 

Prunella 

Man  omnipotent  in  his  paddock — 

So  a  tortoise  is  or  haddock. 
Is  his  highest,  makes  his  most. 

Which  is  more  than  you  could  boast! 
In  such  universe  without  limit 

What  omnipotence,  will  you  say, 
Rises  ever  once  to  brim  it, 

Once  I  stop  to  think  one  way: 
All  Power — and  there  is  no  "all," 

Only  ever  great  and  small, 
As  ever  smaller  and  greater 

Time  ripens  new  mooning  places, 
More  worlds  to  no  end  of  spaces. 

And  so  more  Power,  you  to  find 
Not  omnipotence  of  any  kind. 

But  God  all  other  than  you  divined. 
Then  is  omnipotence  for  mc, 

I  in  my  divinity. 
Far  as  I  may  reach  to  see: 

There  's  the  spider  in  his  wall. 
There  he  thinks  he  has  it  all, 

Bandboxed  in  his  silver  stall, 


902  Prunella's  Priest 

His  net  of  high  titled  green, 

Just  a  dash  of  wine  between, 
So,  just  as  far  as  he  may  see, 

Is  monarch  in  his  poverty. 
Likewise  so  I  stand  to  be 

Monarch  far  as  I  may  see, 
Monarch  of  this  soul  in  me, 

Monarch  by  divinity, 
One  hand  on  eternity, 

I  myself  to  compass  good 
My  way,  not  your  way  you  would 

Nail  me  to  your  tune  and  mood, 
Mark  your  spider  how  he  cingles 

His  trap-house  to  see  to  root 
The  soul  out  of  a  mooning  newt, 

Sees  not  beyond,  nor  mingles 
Where  the  orange  lily  tingles 

In  a  bath  of  wind — looks  not  where 
The  hawk  lies  on  his  pillow  of  air. 

Yet,  far  as  he  may  see  to  see. 
He  kingdoms  in  his  royalty. 

Far  as  he  shall  have  intent 
Lords  he  lord  omnipotent. 

Have  I  the  less  power  to  be 
Master  by  autonomy 

Far  as  I  may  look  to  see, 
And  I  look  so  far  beyond 

Life  and  my  world  around 
I  chafe  under  each  new  bond, 

Hope  unties  me  from  this  ground 
Once  I  see  my  falcon  leap 

Into  his  shining  deep. 
And  I  have  eyes  to  see 

Far  forever  more  than  he. 


Prunella's  Priest  903 

Other  soul-sublimity 

I  reach  to  because  I  see  it, 
Bounden  to  embrace  and  be  it — 

Why  shall  I  not  have  the  whole 
Of  what  I  see  in  my  seeing  soul? — 

That  your  spider  does  in  his  hole ! 

Oh,  to  be  free  as  the  lark 

In  his  pile  of  dark ! 
Oh,  to  be  free  as  a  kite 

At  his  noon  of  height, 
Over  black  clouds  to  be  ringing. 
Between  the  suns  to  be  swinging, 
Cast  my  lot  in  the  wild-flower  tree, 
Let  the  sweet  wind  hark  for  me — 

Oh,  to  be  free! 

Oh,  to  be  new  as  a  day 

At  my  song  I  play ! 
Just  to  be  new  for  an  hour 

As  the  hyacinth  shower 
To  fall  where  vines  are  sighing. 
To  kiss  where  leaves  are  dying. 
To  coat  the  croton  another  blue, 
Hang  it  in  a  chain  of  dew — 

Oh,  to  be  new! 

Oh,  to  be  true  as  a  shot 

To  the  target  spot. 
True  as  the  splinters  of  light 

Flash  eyes  above  night 
That  I  may  see  to  be  truing, 
That  I  look  up  to  be  doing 
Other  than  others  may  fly  to  do. 


904  Prunella's  Priest 

Strike  my  emerald  light  or  blue — 
Oh,  to  be  true! 

Oh,  to  be  free  to  be  new. 

Free  to  be  true ! 
Not  as  my  wild  honey  tree 

Flutters  to  be  free. 
Singing  never,  ever  sighing. 
Flapping  wings,  yet  never  flying, 
But  free  as  a  morning  wind  to  flee 
Full  of  dawn  and  melody — 

Oh,  to  be  free ! 

Priest 

So  you  will  leave  us, 

Nor  yet  believe  us 

Our  convent-sisterhood 

Makes  part  of  all  good. 

Refuge  for  you 

From  your  world  of  sin, 

Penance  to  do. 

New  life  to  begin, 

Your  one  way  to  see 

Divinity 

Is  not  of  this  life 

Of  lowermost. 

Of  mother  and  wife. 

Of  pleasing  host, 

Yet  you  see  how  true 

This  passing  ghost 

Is  all  of  you, 

How  the  world  is  small 

'Though  you  have  it  all, 


Prunella's  Priest  905 

How  a  life  is  short 
As  a  bubble's  sport, 
While  the  soul  of  you 
Craves  a  way  to  hide 
From  the  world  outside, 
While  the  whole  of  you 
Points  to  brighter  day, 
Claims  a  larger  pay 
If  you  hold  to  right, 
Put  the  world  to  slight, 
Keep  Heaven  in  sight. 

Prunella 

Not  I  to  keep  your  Heaven  in  sight, 

Not  I  by  kingdoms  to  be  bought; 
I  for  only  love  of  Right, 

For  never  hope  nor  thought 
Of  more  than  all  my  soul  to  be 

Mistress  of  what  is  most  in  me, 
More  than  you  shall  name  or  see, 

Soul  to  come  to,  soul  to  be! 

Not  I  to  dodge  aside, 

Not  I  for  you  to  hide 
In  cloisters — I  was  made  to  fight. 

There  's  my  first  right  royal  right, 
All  a  world  for  me  in  sight 

To  cHnch  with  and  unmaster, 
Never  to  escape  the  blow 

I  must  give  and  take,  and  so 
I  am  more  than  your  saint  in  plaster. 

Not  I  to  creep  away 

Out  of  the  storm  of  day. 


9o6  Prunella's  Priest 

Coward  to  snuggle  me  about 

By  bars  to  shut  the  struggle  out, 
Coward  to  snivel  to  do 

The  will  of  you, 
And  not  a  chance  to  be  true 

Since  not  a  chance  to  be  false, 
Nor  yet  a  way  to  be  new 

In  your  temple  of  halts. 

Never  is  higher  way  for  me 

Than  the  world  I  see, 
Once  I  strike  for  power. 

Face  the  ugly  hour, 
"Tempter  and  tempted,  and  so 

I  will  come,  I  will  go, 
Free  as  honeysuckles  blow, 

Mightier  than  you  trick  or  know. 

Not  I  to  slink  away 

From  my  race  and  day, 
Not  I  to  dodge  the  blows 

Of  a  world  that  grows 
The  woman  in  me  by  what  I  face 

Of  counter-force,  hold  to  my  fighting-place, 
Hold  to  fighting  for  my  race, 

Nor  homage  to  your  throne  of  grace! 

Not  I  to  crawl  aside 
'  From  the  sun  above  wide, 

Nor  miss  one  violet  day 
(  Where  my  cedar  birds  play 

And  I  to  hold  one  truth — this : 

Head  up  to  storm  or  moon-beam  bliss, 

Foot  against  any  precipice 


Prunella's  Priest  907 

If  I  would  wear  the  briolette, 
Match  the  violet. 

Priest 

Comes  there  no  reward 
At  the  hand  of  God? 

Prunella 

Reward  of  soul  which  I  grow 

By  the  way  I  go; 
Reward  of  power  I  achieve 

By  the  light  I  give, 
By  my  love  of  Right, 

My  love  of  light, 
Nor  Heaven  in  sight, 

Only  my  reward  of  Might, 
As  the  field  flower  blues  its  wings, 

Wears  the  beryl  dew  in  strings 
Face  up  to  the  force  of  things. 

Reward,  and  I  care  not  what, 
So  I  come  to  know 

I  am  more  than  gain  to  be  got 
Beyond,  below. 

More  than  spoon-handled  to  dip. 
All  hand  and  lip 

To  take,  if  once  I  have  paid 
Your  price,  get  my  Heaven  instead 

Of  myself  which  is  more 
Than  your  market-store. 

Of  my  soul  which  is  vaster 
Than  any  master. 

Soul  in  me  to  outwisdom  you 
By  what  I  am. 


QoS  Prunella's  Priest 

More  of  me  than  what  I  may  do 
Or  diagram, 

More  of  me  than  what  you  may  span 
By  your  hand  of  man, 

Than  what  you  may  cage  for  keep 
To  hark  to  your  peep, 

More  of  me  than  what  you  may  score 
Forevermore 

By  thought,  your  thought  which  is  plastered, 
Heart  alabastered, 

More  and  more  of  soul  in  me, 
One  part  of  eternity 

Will  not  be  mastered. 

A  Confessional 

Once  was  one  summer  morning 

Of  an  olive  awning 
Under  which  they  stood. 

Girl  and  priest  in  their  broods  of  trees 
Against  their  sun-pond — there  they  could 

Try  titles  with  birds  and  bees 
To  get  what  moon-flowers  have  to  drop 

Of  white  light  or  early  crop 
Of  sweet — how  mellow 

The  heart  is  when  a  day  is  yellow! 

Soon  he  was  at  it  to  pick 

Phoenix,  sandalwood  stick, 
Flowers  of  the  swan  wing,  leaves 

Of  teaberry  or  cotton  cheek. 
Boughs  of  fingers  in  copper  greaves, 

Anything  to  help  him  speak 
To  say — what  should  he  say 

And  his  whole  heart  there  gone  that  day 


Prunella's  Priest  909 

As  fire  flics  out  of  a  sun 

To  draw  you  to  it — you  both  are  one? 

By  an  edge  of  the  wood 

To  build  her  a  bower 
Of  the  pied-eyed  flower 

In  willow-snood 
At  the  lake's  front  foot 

Where  the  sun  was  glued, 
His  heart  now  he  put 

To  the  task,  while  there 
His  new  confession-booth  was  fair 

As  her  look  to  him  in  the  melted  air. 

She  should  be  priest 

In  his  place  that  day, 
Hear  his  heart  at  least, 

All  he  had  to  say 
Of  how  his  priestliness  was  vain 

When  soul  was  king,  truth  was  plain 
And  love  was  come  in  the  world  again , 

As  there  she  sat  in  her  house  of  flowers. 
Princess  now  on  gilded  hours. 

Power  of  love  above  the  Powers, 

He  to  confess — that  he  did — 

Nothing  now  of  conscience  slept, 
Nothing  of  his  heart  he  hid. 

Nothing  of  his  love  he  kept 
But  she  should  have  it,  she  to  take 

Heart  and  soul  of  him  to  keep 
High  above  prizable  stake 

Of  Heaven  at  his  altar-heap — 
Love  unbosomed  and  ungloved 

There  as  he  told  her  how  he  loved, 


9IO  Prunella's  Priest 

How  above  earth  she  was  great 

Of  heart  and  spirit-state, 
Above  altars  or  what  he  knew 

Church  held  to  be  true, 
How  greater  than  hope  or  faith 

In  worlds  beyond  death 
Is  the  brave  man  true 

To  his  heart  to  do 
His  soulfullest  here 

For  not  a  fear, 

For  not  a  bribe 

Of  a  Heaven  to  get, 
For  not  a  gibe 

Of  your  parson  tribe 
At  their  petty  let. 

But  yonder  coast 
A  man  to  boast. 

For  soul  is  most ! 
Now  fetched  an  eagle  in  trim 

At  the  voice  of  him 

As  if  he  would  give  him  fight, 

Put  him  to  the  touch 
To  try  his  flight 

If  his  pluck  was  much, 
If  his  heart  was  right. 

As  on  he  went  breast-first  to  tell 
His  love  of  her,  nor  knew  his  words 

More  than  the  galaxy  of  birds 
Just  overhead  striking  their  bell 

To  ring  and  sing  him  all  is  well. 

And  she — well,  nothing  less 

Than  she  too  must  confess : 


Prunella's  Priest  911 

"Once  you  said  you  knew  the  man 

I  loved  and  meant  to  take, 
Knew,  too,  he  had  a  plan 

To  strike  the  church  for  sake 
Of  truth  and  freedom  and  love, 

Which  was  cause  enough 
That  I  should  put  him  aside, 

Take  your  church  for  guide. 

"  Never  you  knew  my  man. 

Never  you  thought  to  guess 
Who  he  might  be,  what  was  his  span, 

What  his  heart  for  mightiness 
Once  he  were  roused  to  do. 

Roused  to  be  bold  and  true 
To  strike  for  power,  make  men  kings. 

Not  your  pimple  underlings. 
Mole-eyed,  their  house  in  the  sod, 

All  fours  down  to  you  and  your  God. 

"Never  you  thought  my  man  might  be 

Bottled  in  your  hierarchy, 
Himself  bound  hand  and  foot. 

Silent  as  a  conquered  coot, 
Nor  breath  of  him  left  to  speak  out 

The  princeliness  of  doubt. 
Nor  man  of  him  left  to  make 

One  fight  for  love  and  freedom's  sake —  ■ 
Never  you  dreamed  to  see 

Who  my  man  might  be — 

"  He  that  is  true  as  Light, 
Kingly  as  Right, 


912  Prunella's   Priest 

He  that  shall  follow  me 

As  I  follow  too 
Where  his  soul  is  free 

For  a  will  to  do, 
For  the  man  to  be, 

He  that  shall  climb  for  love 
To  all  heights  above. 

Never  enough 

"Of  new  worlds  to  be  kinging, 

New  truth  to  be  singing, 
As  he  shall  follow  and  I  know 

Love  is  why  he  follows  so, 
Love  of  mighty  love  and  truth, 

Love  which  hangs  about  his  youth 
And  I  follow — there  am  I, 

One  moon  in  his  galaxy — 
Evermore  beyond  and  above, 

Yet  all  for  love,  all  for  love! 

"Was  he  not  for  me 

Before  eternity? 
Was  I  not  for  him  too 

Before  the  heavens  were  blue? 
Shall  I  lose  him  now,  and  he 

Forever  meant  for  me. 
Lose  him  by  a  church  between 

For  an  evil  screen 
To  put  us  forever  apart. 

Snap  this  bondage  of  the  heart? 

"Is  he  not  a  priest 

In  love,  at  least, 
With  me,  I  too  with  him, 

Heart  and  soul  and  limb? 


Prunella's  Priest  913 

May  we  not  go  together, 

Suck  the  sun-pond  weather, 
Our  two  lives  evergreen  free 

As  yonder  dickcissel  in  his  tree 
FHngs  his  breath  of  melody 

For  you  and  me? 

"Is  there  no  way  to  go 

Higher  than  the  way  you  know, 
Nothing  nobler  to  see 

Out  in  immensity, 
Nor  sky  of  a  cleaner  blue. 

Of  wider  view 
Than  narrows  in  your  church  for  you, 

Your  Pontiff  might, 
Your  altar  rite. 

Your  Heaven  in  sight? 

"Together,  I  and  you, 

For  what  is  high  and  true, 
Always  beyond  us  too- — 

Man  to  stand  straight  and  free 
As  stands  divinity, 

God  in  you,  God  in  me. 
Never  God  to  crawl  to, 

Kneel  great  or  small  to, 
Man  his  own  God  to  grow  vaster, 

Always  man  for  master  and  master. " 

What  a  pretty  thing  it  is 

Of  a  summer  day 
You  to  watch  a  maiden  play 

At  woodnotes,  her  meaning  this. 
That  love  in  the  world  is  come  to  stay 


914  Prunella's  Priest 

As  hcart55  are  meant  to  swing 
Free  as  bottle-flowers  in  spring 
Or  any  songster  on  the  wing! 

Now  she  fingers  troops  of  moss, 

Club-moss  at  her  feet, 
Handfuls  of  sun-boon  sweet, 

And  what  of  night,  what  of  loss? 
Is  life  not  meant  to  be  incomplete, 

The  best  of  it  I  find. 
My  pot  of  joy,  juggling  mind, 

Meant  to  be  dropped  and  left  behind? 

There  she  argued  to  her  priest 

Her  April  way: 
"Soul  is  more  than  Heaven  may  pay. 

More  than  your  eternal  feast 
Of  joy  is  this  power  to  make  your  way 

By  force  of  soul  to  be 
More  than  life  may  touch  or  see, 

One  self-divined  divinity." 

They  together — the  birds  above 

Like  souls  in  air 
Pointed  to  sing  another  where 

Of  freedom  and  power  and  love 
Beyond  us,  as  always  upward  there 

The  kildee  climbs  and  sings 
As  if  he  saw  what  new  life  springs 

Beyond  this  heavy  world  of  things. 

They  together,  maid  and  priest, 

That  great  summer  day 
Meant  for  love  to  have  its  way, 

Love  of  man  and  truth  and  beast, 


Prunella's  Priest  915 

Unkingdomed  as  the  pinon-jay 

To  shout  from  tree  to  tree 
More  than  he  may  think  or  see, 

All  of  his  soul-sublimity. 

They  together — priest  no  more 

To  snivel  and  bend, 
But  man  straight  on  to  the  end, 

Heart  straight  in  to  the  core, 
And  she  for  lover  and  perfect  friend — 

Oh  what  a  world  is  here 
For  man,  for  higher  and  freer, 

Never  a  God  to  interfere! 

Pond-lush  of  lilies  in  store 

And  he  gathered  them, 
Knotted  her  his  diadem ; 

Love  was  master,  soul  was  more 
Than  galaxies  to  no  end  of  them 

Now  he  could  see  in  her  eyes 
More  than  what  is  merely  wise. 

The  light  which  climbs  beyond  the  skies. 

Lilies  made  fast  to  her  brow 

As  his  lips  there  too. 
Love  was  more  than  all  he  knew 

Of  canon  or  altar-bow. 
Love  was  a  way  to  be  free  and  true. 

Was  light  and  power  and  ruth — 
Oh  the  monarchy  of  youth. 

Love  of  man  and  moon  and  truth ! 

They  loved,  and  they  were  one  together 
As  the  sun  and  his  pretty  weather, 


9i6  Prunella's  Priest 

That  Oxford  flower  and  its  eye  of  dew 

Looking  the  one  pink  look  to  you 
That  they  are  one  soul  through  and  through — 

Is  th^re  question  of  "why"  or  "whether"? 
Has  snow-bird  or  yaffler  protested  aught  ? 

Have  the  loud  mountains  made  a  sign 
But  human  love,  if  little  or  not, 

Is  more  than  all  thinking  is,  divine? 
But  love  shall  be  largest  to  be  best, 

Will  grow  to  more,  never  an  end 
And  a  universe  for  a  friend, 

Every  atom  born  to  be  blest. 
Higher  to  evermore  higher, 

Aways  one  uncollected  desire  ■ 
Soul  has,  like  constellations  spire 

Never  to  reach  their  outward  fire. 

Now  are  our  lovers  under  their  tree, 

Under  their  silver-leaf  tree, 
One  ivy  'round  it,  vine  and  tree 

To  climb  to  rich  sublimity — 
Sotd  is  meant  to  do  and  to  be, 

Nought  for  fear,  nothing  for  small, 
Love  of  man  and  God  and  all. 


ONE  NOBLEMAN 

He  was  a  nobleman — so  your  world  goes — 
Nodded  his  plumes  to  her  wayward  hair; 
What  could  it  matter,  so  they  were  there 
To  smother  her  blushes  and  no  one  knows? 

He  was  a  nobleman — so  your  world  said — 
Which  meant  he  knew  how  to  plunge  his  sword, 
Which  meant  he  knew  how  to  dodge  his  word, 
Play  false  to  women,  take  long  to  wed. 

Think  of  his  palace-place,  park  on  park, 
Kestrels  to  swallow  the  ]3lum-sweet  air, 
Freshets  of  silver  lakes  dimpled  there 
To  laugh  at  each  sky,  wring  song  from  the  lark ! 

Half  a  moon-mottled-night  dance  on  his  green 

And  he  could  be  found  at  a  fountain's  edge 

To  talk  of  love  while  he  schemed  to  hedge, 

And  the  sweet  girl  shrinking  lest  she  shovild  be  seen. 

Had  he  aught  to  fear? — such  men  are  brave. 
Take  to  a  sword  like  bees  to  a  sting. 
Rap  to  slap  back  till  mountains  ring. 
And  men  would  forget  how  he  was  a  knave! 

Take  him  for  what  he  is,  is  he,  then,  brave 
For  this,  that  he  holds  no  feeling  left; 
He  who  could  cut  the  child-heart  bereft 
To  tumble  her  lover  into  his  grave? 

917 


gi8  One  Nobleman 

His  was  one  terror-reign  through  the  land ; 
Lived  never  man  who  could  break  his  sword, 
Where  notch  by  notch  his  murders  were  scored 
Till  thought  turned  white  at  his  red  right  hand. 

Your  youngest  and  bravest,  he  spitted  them  through. 

Decked  his  blade  with  the  flower  of  the  land, 

Till  at  last  one  leaped  to  take  a  hand 

With  the  unmatched  monarch,  show  what  he  could  do, 

One  so  over-young,  soulful,  small; 
A  white  right  cast  of  the  black  left  eye, 
One  withered  patch  in  the  cheek  close  by. 
And  the  cut  of  the  father  was  over  him  all. 

They  knew  not  each  other,  boy  and  man, 
Now  they  crossed  swords  at  his  fountain  edge ; 
No  chance  this  night  to  play  false  or  hedge — 
Red  lips  spit  truth  where  the  steel  tongue  ran. 

Till  sun's  good-night  look  over  his  hills 
They  fought  like  demons  across  the  green 
Where  the  white-eyed  moon  could  now  be  seen 
Just  as  their  blades  lapped  blood  to  the  gills. 

His  lordship  found,  for  once  in  his  life. 
His  match — yea,  more  than  a  match  that  day; 
Dropped  to  his  knees,  so  the  people  say. 
To  beg  for  breath  at  the  edge  of  a  knife. 

Spare  me  this  life  this  once,  only  this, 
All  you  name  shall  be  done  by  me; 
My  whole  possession  shall  rest  with  thee, 
While  yours  be  laurels  other  men  miss ! 


One  Nobleman  919 

They  glared  at  each  other,  boy  and  man — 
The  left-eyed  cast  and  the  withered  patch 
Were  there  on  each  and  a  perfect  match 
As  the  moon  held  a  light  where  the  wrinkles  ran. 

Then  spake  the  boy  to  him  words  of  a  man, 
Yet  would  have  clung  to  him  for  his  child, 
Shouted  he  knew  him — his  cry  was  wild 
As  heart  could  shout  since  the  world  began. 

"Your  word  to  my  mother!  take  her  for  wife, 
Take  her  for  better  or  worse  this  night, 
Or  close  those  eyes  to  morning  light 
To  grope  through  dark  to  death's  other  life. " 

Pale  night  is  most  gone,  day-light  is  red, 

Dew-gems  stand  tied  in  maiden-hair; 

A  nobleman  sees  how  love  is  fair: 

"The  mother  of  such  a  son  who  would  not  wed.''" 

And  then,  swords  aside,  father  and  son 
Are  locked  to  each  other's  stout  embrace, 
Heart  leaps  to  heart,  face  on  face. 
For  the  will  of  the  Kingdom  of  love  is  done. 


RUN-AMUCK  MACK 

Pitch-boot  boy,  while  what  a  kick 

He  could  land 
Like  a  pounder  at  a  pick, 

Or  turn  a  hand 

Into  fist, 
His  neighbor's  nozzle  into  grist. 
As  if  pounding  made  the  gist 

Of  what  a  man  shall  do 
To  prop  him  higher  than  his  shoe! 

Solid  McRough,  not  to  speak 

Of  his  power 
Of  necromantic  beak. 

Of  his  tower 

Of  bruit 
To  name  him  most  magnificent  brute 
In  triumph  of  lofty  foot 

To  the  point  immense 
Which  marks  the  genius  of  e\'ents. 

"Hold, "  he  will  say  to  his  man, 

Face  to  face, 
"I  hold  you  because  I  can, 

I  short  your  pace 

To  an  inch 
That  you  may  feel  my  kick  and  pinch, 
Learn  to  obsequy  and  flinch 

To  find  out  who  I  am 
That  play  at  loo  and  loot — I  'm  Pam!" 
920 


Run-Amuck  Mack  921 

To  another  he  cries  "Hold, 

You  are  small, 
While  I  have  need  of  your  gold. 

For  I  am  all, 

I  am  you. 
My  thought  makes  your  thought  through  and  through, 
You  play  pretty  cockatoo 

To  prattle  and  make  your  bow 
Knee-shape  as  I  show  you  how. 

"I  whistle  and  you  dance, 

You  shall  see. 
You  the  slave  of  circumstance, 

As,  too,  of  mc, 

You  to  do 
What  dumb-head  thing  I  point  you  to 
If  or  no  it  please th  you 

Because  I  have  said  the  word, 
And  you  will  wince  like  a  prison-bird. 

"So  mount  you  yonder  flat  rock 

In  the  sand. 
Dance  there  like  a  weathercock 

The  saraband 

To  a  point. 
While  I  whistle  and  you  unjoint! 
Man  is  grafted  to  be  proined! 

Give  me  but  half  a  hold 
On  his  conscience,  I  '11  have  his  gold. " 

There  he  dances,  top  and  keel, 

Mack  whistles. 
Dances  like  a  moth  will  reel 

Round  a  thistle, 


92  2  Run- Amuck  Mack 

Forward  quick, 
Then  back  as  if  he  knew  the  prick, 
Felt  reverence  for  a  thistle's  kick, 

While  Mack  puts  tooth  and  grin 
Hilarious  to  see  him  spin. 

Shall  there  not  come  an  end 

To  such  power 
As  maketh  a  whole  world  bend 

And  cower 

Unto  God, 
I  scarce  more  than  potato-pod 
Meant  to  bow  me  in  the  sod? 

Else  why  this  will  in  man 
To  break  bondage,  soar  great  as  he  can? 

What  is  there  more  I  shall  do 

Than  my  truth. 
Stand  uncompromising  true 

Fist  and  tooth 

Beyond  fear. 
All  of  me,  so  I  domineer 
Power  which  is  against  me  here. 

To  put  me  too  in  power 
For  climbing  till  I  grow  my  flower? 

So  there  he  dances,  poor  man. 

Mack  whistles. 
Fattens  like  an  ortolan. 

Shines  and  bristles, 

Claps  his  side 
To  see  his  puppet  slip  and  stride 
Now  he  has  his  conscience  tied. 

So  little  left  of  him 
Outside  his  hop  and  swap  of  limb. 


Run-Amuck  Mack  923 

Now  comes  my  man  into  place, 

His  place  of  power, 
For  Fate  will  right  about  face 

Quick  as  an  hour 

Just  to  prove 
Nothing  runs  in  one  endless  groove, 
Soul  is  meant  to  spread  and  move. 

And  so  my  truth  is  this : 
Men  are  Gods  of  their  destinies, 

For  now  comes  one  strange  thing  to  tell, 

Strange  as  fact : 
My  man  points  his  petronel 

And  Mack  is  Macked 

In  return 
With  "Now  my  chance,  now  my  turn, 
Let  me  see  your  shin-bones  churn, 

Make  you  your  bow  in  grace 
To  dance  the  whirlwind  out  of  place, 

Keeping  my  pistol  in  view 

Just  for  luck, 
For  I  shoot  quick  and  true 

As  you  lack  pluck. 

So  beware. 
Lose  not  a  trick  to  tread  the  air. 
Toe  in  tune  and  have  a  care 

For  this  new  circumstance: 
I  whistle  while  you  up  and  dance ! ' ' 


'ROUND  A  CORNER 

Prune  blue  has  dotted  the  sky, 

'Round  her  cottage  her  magpies  fly, 

So  perfect  this  day  is  in  hand  and  on  high ; 

Out  of  her  cottage  she  comes — 

Florence — she  stops  in  a  vine 
Of  Bari  which  stalks  and  thumbs 

The  gable-end  in  search  of  shine — 
Florence,  and  she  so  certainly  mine! 

'Round  the  corner  I  am  near 

To  watch  her  coddle  her  vine  and  peer 

To  see  if  the  grapes  are  ripe  as  the  year. 

Her  tiny  hand  between  mellow  leaves. 

Her  cheek  like  a  leaf  of  rose  as  pink, 
And  she  is  one,  so  you  would  think, 

With  all  the  Beauty  the  autumn  weaves 
Under  her  cottage  eaves. 

The  moment  before  she  came 

I  stood  in  back  of  a  wicker-frame 

Of  immaculate  flowers  with  their  autumn  name, 

She  is  singing — I  hear  her  sing 

My  name — dropped  ever  word  so  sweet? 
Did  ever  the  Oregon  ring 

His  heartfulness  out  and  so  complete 
In  his  branch  of  cape  at  the  A])ril  meet? 

924 


'Round  a  Corner  925 

"Donald,  Come  Donald,  to  me. 

The  lark  is  loud  in  his  Bartlett  tree 

As  my  heart  is  loud  now  it  calls  to  thee!" 

Just  'round  her  cottage  corner  am  I, 

I  hearken  with  such  delight, 
Now  for  her  song,  now  for  her  sigh, 

I  look  where  the  vireos  light 
To  hearken  too  and  keep  her  in  sight. 

"Donald,  Come  Donald,  as  true 

As  my  heart  sings  and  I  wait  for  you 

In  my  lap  of  leaves  now  the  grapes  are  blue!" 

Overhead  the  sky  is  in  prune, 

Underneath  the  leaves  are  in  red 
So  I  may  see  another  June 

Is  in  blow  in  October  instead, 
And  nothing  is  gone  forever  or  dead. 

"Donald,  Come  Donald,  anear, 

Bend  to  me  once  a  lip  and  an  ear 

To  know  how  the  shadow  you  cast  is  dear!" 

How  shall  I  listen  longer  so? 

The  moon  will  look  through  her  pack  of  cloud 
To  calm  this  wind  which  is  shouting  loud, 

And  I  must  sing  to  let  her  know 
I  am  near  as  my  heqirt  can  go: 

"Only  a  cottage  corner,  dear, 

Between  us  this  red  end  of  the  year 

That  you  may  be  sure  I  am  here  and  near. " 


926  'Round  a  Corner 

No  word — not  a  little  sound ! 

Have  I  frightened  my  wren  away? 
Songs  in  the  plum-bush  superabound, 

Bull-thistle  has  tunes  to  play, 
But  Florence  is  still  as  her  light  of  day. 

"Hark,  for  the  chorus  is  ours! 

Hark,  there  are  lips  to  all  silent  hours! 

Oh,  hark,  and  I  '11  bring  you  my  soul  in  the  flowers! 

'Round  the  comer  I  peek  and  I  spy — 

I  must  be  wary,  hearts  are  shy ! 
You  touch  your  bush  and  the  wren  will  fly, 

So  I  keep  my  place  and  I  sing — 
The  wren  will  hark  to  my  caroling: 

"Am  I  not  come  to  you  now 

As  the  lark  has  come,  and  I  know  how 

My  heart  is  there  in  your  roundabout-bough?" 

Once  I  look  again  I  see 

What  a  bunch  of  drupes  she  has  plucked, 
Her  fullest  cluster  of  Lipari 

Right  where  the  tongue  of  the  sun  is  tucked — 
How  well  I  know  they  are  meant  for  me! 

"So  here  is  this  flower  to  you. 

As  here  is  my  heart  for  each  way  true 

Like  my  flower  wears  the  pink  and  the  white  of  you ! " 

Light  is  her  step  as  winds  are  light 

Which  only  creep  through  the  grass — 
She  comes  my  way,  and  never  a  kite 

Or  daflFodil  but  takes  delight 
To  step  aside  to  let  her  pass. 


'Round  a  Corner  927 

One  more  step  and  we  are  one 

As  daffodil  and  surprising  sun 

Were  matched  before  kingdoms  were  begun ! 

Like  a  flash  we  are  together, 

Heart  upon  heart,  soul  within  soul; 
The  saffron  and  its  feather 

Make  not  such  perfect  whole, 
Nor  clover  pink  and  clover  nowl 

To  hold  for  one  and  forever, 

Nothing  there  to  untie  or  sever, 

Just  as  the  ending  of  love  is  never. 

Nothing  is  left  to  thought, 

Nothing  to  time  or  earth! 
More  is  of  spirit  wrought 

Than  ever  your  life  was  worth ! 
Speak  we  would,  yet  the  words  are  not — 

Bounden  beyond  the  speech  of  thought  I 


TWO  KINDS  OF  LOVE 

All  as  I  would  have  said  it  he  said  it, 

For  better,  for  worse; 

His  plump  hot  heart  went  straight  to  his  credit, 

Had  to  be  shrivelled  to  death 

To  draw  in  a  new  breath, 

For  she  loved  him — that  came  clear  from  her  eyes 

At  the  fountain's  edge 

With  one  strip  of  black  where  the  white  wave  dies; 

Loved  him,  quite  in  the  new  small  way 

Of  her  world  of  to-day. 

Her  life  was  made  up  of  smallest  things, 

Thoughts  of  an  hour. 

With  which  the  whole  heart  of  each  world-girl  rings, 

Or  of  most  of  them,  counting  the  curls 

And  doll-dreams  of  your  girls. 

Yet  she  loved  him — that  is  one  strange  thing,  too, 

In  face  of  it  all, 

How  souls  will  be  false  and  can  yet  be  true: 

Love  lifting  up,  earth  dragging  back 

To  get  more  than  its  snack. 

Every  roundabout  way  to  get  at  it, 
Mild-mannered  at  first, 

She  tried,  with  her  fine  young  sense,  so  that  it 

928 


Two  Kinds  of  Love  929 

Was  how  to  train  up  her  side  hair 
To  each  cheek,  and  as  fair; 

To  unbutton  her  bodice  lower  down 
Than  her  neighbor's  wife, 
Show  the  shoulders  from  white  to  brown, 
Arms  naked  to  draw  up  an  elbow  tight 
Till  the  skin  should  choke  white. 

Next  came  her  stoop,  meant  to  conquer  b}'  force, 

Till  a  blush  popped  out 

Of  each  cheek,  he"  signal  of  hot  remorse; 

She  was  playing  the  weak  first  game 

Of  a  shuffle  with  shame. 

And  so  unfair  to  the  other  girl  there 

So  much  finelier  made, 

That  she  should  be  left  to  each  every  day  care 

To  not  make  her  most  of  her  charms 

'Round  the  pits  of  the  arms. 

To  get  him,  there  was  the  end  first  in  life; 
What  mattered  the  rest? 
He  should  be  master,  she  shall  be  wife; 
Enough,  counting  bread  and  brood, 
The  three  tops  of  all  good. 

First,  so,  to  get  him,  as  here  was  her  lie 
To  bring  it  about: 

She  could  step  with  him  from  low  to  high, 
Be  one  with  him,  quite  as  his  slave, 
Half  as  great,  all  as  brave. 

Five  gold  bangles  out  of  her  hair 

Shall  be  hidden  away, 

A  plainer  dress  with  a  carelesser  care 


93°  Two  Kinds  of  Love 

Shall  hang  about  her  this  day 
To  put  words  into  play. 

What  could  the  lie  matter,  so  she  should  win, 

Since  the  end  is  all ; 

What  'though  her  chalky  cheek  tingled  with  sin? 

Counted  her  carnation  lip  not  enough 

If  it  pleaded  for  love? 

Did  she  love  him,  'i  faith,  what  more  of  earth 
Could  he  ask  to  think? 
What  more  are  gold-painted  planets  worth, 
Held  fast  where  their  galaxies  swing. 
Than  their  warmth  which  they  bring? 

This  world  is  to  live  in  and  much  to  gain 
By  bitter  or  sweet; 

To  have  and  to  hold  it  will  not  be  vain; 
Life  gave  it,  death  knocks  it  away 
By  the  splash  of  a  day. 

To  feast,  cook  knowledge,  pile  up  gold 

Is  kingliness  crowned; 

While  to  hunger,  keep  simple,  grow  true  and  old 

Make  losses,  and  nothing  in  sight 

But  the  plain  way  and  right. 

With  power  to  do  all  a  world  could  do. 
Make  much  out  of  naught. 
Pile  thrones  upon  slaughter,  turn  old  to  new. 
And  what  should  the  rest  of  it  count 
How  he  managed  to  mount? 

So  she  would  have  fashioned  him  new  that  day, 

Small  matter  how  small ; 

Less  of  spirit,  more  of  the  clay 


Two  Kinds  of  Love  931 

Shaped  man  to  the  cut  of  her  skill 
And  mould  of  her  will. 

But  his  sight  was  double,  so  he  could  see 

How  two  worlds  are  one; 

How  whatever  is  points  what  is  to  be, 

And  not  an  end,  not  the  loss 

Of  a  crown  by  a  cross. 

To  do  the  true  thing  to  be  done  is  great, 

Small  matter  the  end, 

Since  comes  no  end  to  a  path  which  is  straight; 

Only  your  crooked  way  will  run 

Back  to  where  it  begun. 

Not  what  he  gained,  but  what  he  gave  was  his, 

His  best  he  had; 

What  may  a  man  give  the  world  more  than  this. 

Or  what  is  there  else  he  shall  keep 

When  he  drops  off  to  sleep? 

She  would  have  turned  his  world  into  gold. 

Gold  back  into  world; 

Such  barter  is  life,  the  practice  is  old. 

And  he  should  be  kept  to  his  place 

At  the  foot  of  his  race, 

Where  she  should  love  him  for  that  he  had  done, 

Nor  for  that  that  he  was, 

'Though  men  are  more  than  the  race  they  run — 

More  than  all  that  a  man  may  miss 

Is  the  man  that  he  is. 

At  his  garden-edge  where  honey-birds  pause 

For  a  flower-bed's  breath 

Of  pomegranate,  under  green  lace  gauze, 


932  Two  Kinds  of  Love 

They  stopped  where  he  plucked  her  a  flower 
From  his  cinnamon  bower, 

Where  he  held  her  face  between  his  palms, 
Close  in  to  his  own, 

Would  have  drawn  her  all  into  his  arms 
And  his  heart  and  soul  that  night, 
Letting  go  wrong  and  right, 

When  his  bower- vines  broke  the  new  moon's  rays, 

So  sifted  them  through 

As  to  scatter  gold  coins  out  over  her  face, 

Put  two  on  the  lids  of  her  eyes 

As  they  do  when  one  dies. 

Caught  him  a  thought  of  the  other  girl  there 
So  much  finelier  made. 
Her  way  she  died,  yet  turned  more  fair. 
Like  spirit  which  stands  for  most  worth. 
Once  freed  from  the  earth; 

How  once  she  loved  him  for  that  he  was. 

Counted  him  up 

Among  treasure  beyond  his  green  lace  gauze, 

Value  of  gianter  good 

Than  bread  just  and  brood. 

He  could  see  her  white  lips  hold  their  grace 
Like  lilies  in  Fall, 

White  as  her  thin  hand  under  her  face 
Now  she  gave  up  the  world  to  his  keep 
To  drop  off  to  sleep; 

How,  too,  she  bade  him  take  his  place, 

Keep  his  topmost  soul 

Of  man-make  square  to  the  front  of  his  race 


Two  Kinds  of  Love  93: 

To  fight  there  for  truth  up  to  last, 
Till  this  time-life  be  past; 

Not  to  forget  her,  fashion  her  dead, 
For  one  blue  clear  day 
Where  the  stonechat  nests,  violets  wed, 
He  should  find  her  to  have  her  again 
Among  sun-spots  and  rain; 

Words  she  once  chimed  to  him  now  were  there 

To  ring  at  his  heart; 

One  way  the  dead  have  of  showing  their  care ! 

The  untongued,  fine  faunfooted  word 

To  always  be  heard. 

Naught  to  see  or  hear  is  out  there 
Among  silent  worlds; 
Only  the  spirit  of  things  is  fair; 
My  pear-flower  only  speaks  out 
When  I  am  about. 

She  leaned  at  the  gate  of  his  garden  there. 

Looked  into  his  face; 

One  strip  of  smilax  knotted  her  hair 

To  toy  at  her  troubleful  brow. 

For  her  sentence  was  now: 

All  as  I  would  have  said  it  he  said  it, 
Letting  go  her  face 

Where  the  moon  was  now  trying  to  edit 
A  vision  that  souls  have  turned  cold 
'Round  the  burning  of  gold : 

"For  all  she  was  I  have  kept  her  all; 

To  think  of  her  now. 

To  have  her  again  at  my  spirits'  call 


934  Two  Kinds  of  Love 

Is  the  life  of  me,  tell  as  you  will 
How  her  whisper  is  still. 

"Her  comrades  in  arms  for  their  country's  cause 

Were  dropped  by  the  way 

Just  where  the  sting  of  the  fever  was 

As  the  hell-spitting  furnace  of  thirst 

Till  death  did  its  worst. 

"Her  stand  she  took  in  the  forefront  there, 

One  message  of  life, 

Nor  breath  of  fear,  heart  made  of  care 

For  all  as  she  knelt  by  their  side. 

Took  the  fever  and  died. 

"  'Better  so,'  she  said,  'now  a  last  breath  came, 

Since  my  work  is  done! 

My  man  will  find  in  me  nought  to  blame. 

As  he  might  have  done  one  weak  day 

Had  I  chosen  to  stay. 

"  'So,  too,  will  he  see  what  path  I  took, 
What  hope  I  kept. 
One  wide-open  truth  I  ne'er  forsook: 
Great  souls,  at  the  top  of  their  worth, 
Bear  away  from  the  earth. 

"  'So  he  will  follow  me,  that  I  know, 
In  time,  which  is  short. 
The  one  way  narrow,  the  way  I  go, 
And  soon  he  shall  have  me  again 
Among  sun-spots  and  rain.' 

"To  love  her  now  she  is  that  far  away 

As  to  not  return; 

To  hold  to  her,  follow  her  day  and  day. 


Two  Kinds  of  Love  935 

Is  the  life  of  me,  tell  as  you  will 
How  her  whisper  is  still. 

"To  love,  to  be  loved  by  her  now  as  then, 

The  while  she  is  gone; 

To  work  by  no  hope  of  any  gain. 

Above  fear,  for  the  love  I  bring, 

Is  the  love  I  sing. 

"To  be  great  were  greater  than  such  success 

As  your  world  may  know; 

What  counts  the  world  only,  more  gain  or  less, 

Now  soul  may  out-captain  it  all 

Above  gain  way  or  fall? 

"There  's  my  foremost  high  best  which  is  mine; 

What  matters  the  rest? 

The  way  is  to  what  is  more  lasting  fine, 

Since  soul,  at  the  top  of  its  worth, 

Bears  away  from  the  earth. ' ' 


ANTIPODES 

I 

Hideous 

What  a  horrible  sound  was  this? — 
Hark,  thought  I,  what  's  gone  amiss 
Now  I  lay  by  my  sluggard-embers, 
Night  like  a  flock  of  wild  Decembers, 

Each  wind  a  shriek 

Sharp -ended  weak, 
But  over  and  above  the  wind 

This  sound, 
Now  overhead,  now  underground. 
Seemed  like  it  wailed  and  gnashed  and  grinned- 
Oh,  what  a  horrible  sound! 

What  a  terrible  night  was  loose 
To  rip  and  plunge  like  a  maddened  moose ! 
One  would  think  there  could  be  no  hearing 
More  than  the  snort  of  wind  and  sneering 
Whine  against  the  glass 

Like  the  beagle  has. 
Till  straight  above  the  wind  was  heard 

One  cry, 
One  certain  mixture  of  snarl  and  sigh 
As  if  the  pits  of  hell  were  stirred — 
Oh,  what  a  pitiless  cry ! 
936 


Antipodes  937 

To  the  window  I  rushed  to  see — 
Nothing  there  save  a  lashing  sea 
Of  storm  which  had  fallen  to  pelting 
Earth  like  the  very  heavens  were  melting — 

I  could  see  spits  of  fire 

Lick  the  cathedral-spire; 
One  church-front- window  grinned  and  scowled, 

One  sound 
Rushed  like  a  curse  from  underground, 
Whistled  and  shrieked  and  sobbed  and  howled — 
Oh,  what  a  horrible  sound! 

My  room  I  darkened  to  see. 

Eyes  closed  so  soul  could  be  free — 

The  within  light  which  gets  small  showing 

If  your  cathedral-gold  be  glowing — 

When  came  one  view 

Would  master  you 
Past  all  your  believing  to  know, 

Past  thought. 
What  hideousness  in  the  heart  is  wrought. 
What  monster  vilenesses  come  and  go — 
Oh,  what  a  terrible  thought! 

It  was  Gregory- Day — church-bells 
Bellowed  like  a  swarm  of  hells 
Through  night  and  storm  now  I  lay  trying 
To  see,  by  dark,  whence  came  such  crying, 

Such  horrible  yell 

Like  a  devil's  bell. 
When  peered  above  my  window-sill. 

Outside, 
Two  eyes,  such  eyes  as  lived  and  lied 
To  kill,  hungered  and  glistened  to  kill — 
Oh,  how  they  flickered  and  lied! 


93^  Antipodes 

A  hag  of  one  frightfullest  face, 

No  part  but  was  out  of  place, 

No  teeth,  yet  monster-fact  for  wonder, 

Tusks,  like  a  condor's  claw,  shot  under 

And  out  of  her  chin, 

Each  end  turned  in 
Like  the  laps  of  her  yellow  hide, 

While  there 
Out  of  the  skull  in  place  of  hair 
Cropped  toad-horns — murder  boiled  inside — 
Oh,  what  a  vulture  was  there! 

Hers  was  the  yelping  thrapple-cry, 

One  dreadfullest  fear  to  die — 

But  what  of  that  wild  sorrow-throbbing 

Which  wailed  so,  like  sweet  souls  were  sobbing ?- 

What,  thought  I,  could  she 

Throstle  threnody. 
When,  straight  against  the  sky  there  took 

To  flight 
Such  hosts  of  infants  there  was  light 
Like  heaven — scarcely  could  I  look — 
Oh,  what  a  wonderful  sight ! 

Poor  martyred  little  infant  ones. 
Nothing  once,  now  stars  and  suns. 
Straight  above  storm  and  thistle  climbing 
Where  I  could  hear  their  bell-hearts  chiming 

Into  song,  such  tear-song 
For  so  small  life,  so  great  wrong — 

Their  lot 
That  they  should  have  wholly  missed 
Love  in  the  world  which  found  them  not, 
Never  once  smiled  at  nor  once  kissed — 
Oh,  what  a  terrible  thought! 


Antipodes  939 


Gregory  Day — he  made  for  what 

Lotted  you  your  sorrow-lot: 

Priests  for  fathers  had  never  known  you 

— They  could  not  wed,  so  would  not  own  you- 

Noble  mighty  men, 

Holy  spirit  men! — 
So  you  must  be  disowned  to  make  good, 

For  love 
Of  church  below,  God  above. 
Their  claim  to  soul  and  heavenhood — 
Oh,  what  a  terrible  love! 

Gold,  of  course,  made  the  thing  in  view, 
More  gold,  nor  a  thought  of  you. 
So  their  blood-altars  should  certain  rise, 
And  vou  there  for  pretty  sacrifice! 

Are  there  none  to  speak? 

Is  your  whole  world  weak? 
God,  is  there  no  man-heart  left 

To  swing 
One  blow  at  hellishness,  to  ring 
Hate  on  the  murder  of  it  and  theft? 
Oh,  what  a  terrible  thing! 

The  hag  went  down — I  saw  her  go 

Into  tumbling  undertow 

Of  darkness,  two  claw  hands  up-reaching 

For  the  gold-heap,  throttle  screeching 
Hate  and  fear — I  knew 
What  was  worst  was  true: 

She  was  wailing  for  that  she  lost, 
Her  hold 

On  the  hell-horde  of  bloodied  gold 

She  captured  at  such  mighty  cost — 

Oh,  what  a  truth  was  told! 


940  Antipodes 

What  cherubim! — I  saw  them  rise 
Like  soul-sweet  against  the  skies 
To  put  their  new  hearts  happy-throbbing 
Where  is  nor  priestHness  nor  sobbing 

Nor  worshipping 

Nor  silencing, 
But  love  just,  whole  high-hearted  love 

Of  Light, 
Love,  which  is  King  by  force  of  Right 
In  earth  below,  in  worlds  above — 
Oh,  what  a  wonderful  sight! 

Your  church  remains,  its  gold  is  here. 
And  the  worst  of  it  is  clear: 
Gregory  Day  and  a  crime  is  doing, 
Child  and  mother  make  the  whole  ruing, 
While  your  glutted  priest 
Counts  the  crime  the  least 
With  a  Savior  tucked  in  behind — 

All  'round 
Is  church-chime  baying  like  a  hoixnd. 
Chant  for  cheat  and  for  God  combined — 
Oh,  what  a  horrible  sound! 

II 

Beautiful 

Dying! — I  saw  she  was  d^dng  now- 
All  about  her  house  was  still 

From  each  rowan-bough 

To  her  window-sill; 
Save  only  once  had  the  air 
Broken  through  the  blind  to  where 
She  was  dying  to  drop  her  a  song 
Her  field-lark  carried  the  dull  day  long. 


Antipodes  941 


Fairest  sweet  Edna  Grace  was  dying — 
The  wide  silent  sorrow-room 

Where  she  was  lying 

Held  such  hollow  gloom 
I  felt,  too,  as  If  I  must  go 
Her  way,  which  she  seemed  to  know — 
You  know  how  it  is,  on  such  a  da}'. 
If  love  go,  how  hard  it  is  to  stay. 

And  she  was  all  otherwise  than  those 
Who  look  for  a  chance  to  keep, 

To  themselves  and  close, 

What  gain  they  may  reap: 
She  kept  her  way,  through  and  through, 
To  be  kind  and  fearless-true 
And  doing,  with  this  one  bosom-thought: 
Self  last,  truth  first,  so  that  the  best  be  wrought. 

And  so  she  would  not  listen  to  you 
Who  would  tell  her  what  is  best, 

Settle  what  is  true 

By  your  altar-test. 
Knowing  there  is  more  in  this, 
That  a  man  be  what  he  is, 
His  way,  his  thinking,  his  wholly  best. 
Than  he  wear  your  skull  so  God  be  blest. 

So  was  it  she  took  not  once  one  look 
From  the  pit-bottom  view 

Of  your  missal-book 

To  know  what  is  true. 
Nor  twisted  knots  in  her  knees 
For  worship  to  try  to  please 
One  Infinite  God — she  kept  to  her  way, 
Her  natural  free  whole  self-noble  play, 


942        ,;  Antipodes 

For  Beauty  stands  first,  while  each  has  his  own 
To  bring  to  light  in  his  way, 

Not  yours  which  is  known 

By  the  threat  and  pay — 
Each  flower  has  its  tint  to  catch, 
No  Beauty  was  made  to  match — 
For  that  she  came  to  be  what  she  was, 
No  part  of  your  tongue-split  parrot-cause. 

No  priest-hawk  once  ever  closed  his  hold 
On  her  own  thoughtfullest  heart, 

On  her  soul  and  gold 

By  his  Petrine  art — 
Just  this  was  her  apostle: 
Each  soul  is  meant  to  throstle 
Its  own  song,  unlap  its  own  feather, 
And  small  thought  of  your  dull  "why"  or  "whether. 

The  Beauty  of  all  of  it  was  this, 
Was  her  beautiful  death, 

While  the  meaning  is 

That  as  each  new  breath 
I  part  with  must  sudden  rise 
Above  me,  against  all  skies. 
So  my  last  must,  if  great  or  small, 
Bear  soul  up,  the  Beauty  of  it  all, 

For  now,  as  there  she  lay  and  I  thought 
Her  dead,  as  the  white  new  face 

Looked  like  marble  wrought, 

So  not  a  trace 
Of  earth  was  left  at  the  brow, 
Just  the  pale  clear  dawn  there  now, 
Sudden  she  raised  her  head  like  one 
Would  look  from  the  tomb  after  life  is  done. 


Antipodes  943 

The  blue  deep  eyes  started  open  wide — 
I  could  not  see  what  she  saw, 

'Though  I  harked  and  eyed 

Through  the  corridor 
Where  she  looked — nothing  was  there 
Save  her  wondrous  Beauty-stare 
Now  I  caught  her  whisper — she  could  see 
What  she  said  was  there  plain  wondrously — 

All  Beauty  just,  but  only  the  kind 
Which  touches  soul  at  its  best, 

Above  eye  or  mind — 

There  was  manifest 
A  new  other  kind  of  light 
Like  a  strange  Shining  of  Right — 
Then  there  was  song,  such  marvel-song 
As  might  have  been  a  requiem  for  wrong. 

Girl  and  boy  were  we  once  in  the  grasses, 
Honeysuckle  time  was  then, 

And  'though  life  passes 

To  come  not  again, 
I  go  back  to  that  first  spring 
Of  joy-leap,  of  gathering 
Cress  and  crocus — how  now  it  is  plain 
My  spring,  my  love  will  one  day  come  again! 

"Beautiful" — there  was  her  last  word,  nought  more — 
Nothing  ever  she  had  seen 

Or  heard  before 

Or  dreamed  of  e'en — 
Beauty  all  about  her  fair 
As  the  white  sweet  face — right  there 
She  looked  once  where  the  stars  were  in  dawn, 
Then  her  whole  heart  to  me  and  she  was  gone. 


CASSANDRA  SOUTHWICK 


Hand-gyve  her — you  knew  how 

That  last  flesh-pinch  you  gave  her  arm 

To  make  her  wince  you  one  low  poor  bow 
Would  send  new  pain-shots  to  each  palm 

To  put  them  flying  for  no  control 
Of  such  gentle  soul. 

II 

Body-strip  her  up  and  down 

Of  the  pale  gray  gown 
To  give  your  pea-shape  eye  the  glut 

And  glisten  of  a  mariput, 
But  dodge  those  moon-eyes  so  wondrous  sad, 

Or  mark  you  this  my  word, 
They  '11  yet  fork-fasten  to  drive  you  mad. 

Ill 

Tuck  a  right  sleeve  up  your  elbow-pit — 

Wise  of  you  to  think  of  it, 
Lest  those  new  lips  you  will  make 

Might  open  on  you  to  hiss  and  spit 
One  blood-spot  for  her  sake 

To  stick  to  you — never  mind  her  hurt, 
'Though  you  drop  your  soul,  so  you  save  your  shirt! 

944 


Cassandra  Southwick  945 

IV 

Tear-time  was  now  for  her, 

Yet  you  could  not  see  an  eye-fibre  stir 
Nor  lip-end,  not  so  much  as  lurks 

Inside  your  red  rat-heart,  so  drop  your  smirks 
To  come  to  time  to  whet  a  lash 

For  love  of  God  and  the  open  gash. 


To  the  rope-end  knot  a  new  knot 

For  blood-sucking  emphasis. 
Your  one  kind  of  forget-me-not 

And  the  thing  dates  back  to  Genesis — 
Oh,  mind  not  her,  now  you  have  her  pinned; 

You  know  great  hearts,  so  you  know  she  sinned- 
Have  not  a  care,  she  will  stand  as  straight 

As  a  rib  in  your  prison  garden-gate. 

VI 

Drop  out  your  bumbledom 

To  come  to  the  lash — count  not  one  stripe 
To  see  if  a  single  welt  be  ripe 

For  another  to  prop  up  Christendom, 
Since  you  have  one  written  Council  order 

To  deal  what  cut-licks  you  can  afford  her 
Now  you  have  done  with  her  stricken  mate 

You  tried  to  kill,  I  would  think,  for  hate 

Of  such  spirit-grace 

In  his  white  fine  face. 

VII 

Your  stew-stomach,  potted  cheek, 

My  pop- joy  friend 
60 


946  Cassandra  Southwick 

Of  voice  for  such  little  chalky  squeak 

No  soul  is  in  it  to  try  to  speak, 
And  you  will  hide-redden,  gut-broaden 

To  see  such  righteousness  heel-trodden— 
The  dog  in  you,  say  I,  jaw-snappy, 

While  all  the  while 
Your  front  teeth  show  like  a  chalk-mark  smile 

Of  mean  mouth-pleasantness,  crack  happy 

VIII 

You  knew  the  truly  true  truth, 

A  one  way  to  think,  you  had  it  right. 
While  she  was  wrong,  so  in  with  a  tooth 

To  rip  her  heart  out  for  noble  spite ! 
There  's  God  to  serve,  Christ  to  treat 

Like  he  were  half  knuckles  to  strike 
The  lip  out  of  a  songing  shrike 

To  cock  an  ear  to  his  dying  bleat ! 


IX 


Your  mood-militant  is  not  her  mood, 

Only  this  thought,  that  good  is  good, 
Small  odds  how  she  prays  to  seal  it 

So  her  way  be  to  act  and  feel  it. 
To  never  mind  your  trick  to  trap 

A  sinner  in  an  altar-flap 
To  make  a  slave  of  him,  soul  and  head, 

Good  as  dead. 


Winter  is  on — you  scatter  her  brood, 

Her  young  about  her — I  saw  her  sheep 


Cassandra  Southwick  947 

Would  wither  in  the  underwood, 

Her  young  sweet-gum-tree  drop  asleep 

And  winter  at  it  by  claw  and  nail 

To  tear  the  pith  out — her  lip  is  pale 

For  thought  of  those  she  left  a  day  ago 

Whom  you  will  scatter  to  an  eastern  snow. 


XI 


Yet  was  it  yesterday  I  saw 

You  cluck  at  a  priest,  put  out  your  claw 
To  fumble  at  his  rochet-button. 

One  hand  fast  to  his  flap-alb-end 
Now  I  could  see  you  wince  to  bend 

Each  eye  to  Heaven  like  a  vulgar  glutton. 


XII 


Her  garden  is  blasted, 

Purple  azalea,  convolvulus  blue 
Are  gone,  not  a  bee-leaf  lasted, 

Yet  here  is  one  fact  for  you; 
I  saw  you  this  same  evening  here 

Dip  a  whisper  in  a  prayer-book's  car. 
Come  to  your  knee-down  to  palaver 

With  God  for  a  word  with  him 
To  put  your  case  clean,  conscience  trim. 

And  she — the  devil  himself  could  have  her. 

XIII 

Still  must  she  join  your  crew 

For  love  of  God  and  to  be  as  you, 

Or  stick  to  such  righteousness  as  prints 
All  soul  there  in  her  sweet-eyed  glints 


94^  Cassandra  Southwick 

To  take  the  worst  of  it — you 

With  your  hog-eyed  gulp  and  stomach-stew. 

XIV 

You  knew  truth — here  's  the  thing — 

Truth  hides  its  sweet  to  let  slip  a  sting 

Like  a  snooded  rose,  so  on  with  your  smites 
Of  whip-lash  to  cut  like  an  adder  bites 

And  you  have  it  for  just  the  thing, 

You  keep  your  sweet  to  let  slip  the  sting. 

XV 

Look  now  to  the  satin  hand 

Which  you  will  not  find  in  your  land 
For  shape  so  like  a  tulip-leaf, 

Vein-forked  as  a  tree  of  maidenhair, 
Yet  will  not  beckon  you  to  be  brief 

Or  lighten  your  blows,  such  soul  is  there 
To  know  a  way  to  grow  on  grief 

Past  all  circumference  of  belief 
To  one  templed  over-blue  and  as  fair. 

XVI 

Draw  blood  on  her,  one  clear  drop 

To  give  your  prison-dust  for  sop 
And,  lo,  I  see  whole  lilies  spring 

To  circle  earth  like  an  evening  ring, 
Whited  as  the  spirit-hand. 

To  flock  for  flying  in  your  land 
That  men  may  catch  her  word 

How,  thrust  as  you  will  this  life-side  out 
For  faith  or  doubt, 

The  soul  of  her  shall  be  seen  and  heard. 


Cassandra  Southwick  949 

xvir 

Gentle  sweet  lady,  how  you  would  come 

To  put  your  persecutors  dumb 
For  joy  to  know  they  could  while 

One  instant  in  your  agate  smile, 
And  you  not  looking  back 

Where  thought  was  fierce,  bosom  black, 
You  who  forgive — while  I 

Who  could  not  say  them  one  mouth-mild  thing 
For  knowing  of  their  whip  and  sting, 

Oh,  learn  me  how  to  live  and  die! 


THE  QUESTION 


Shall  I  ask  it? 

I  saw  her  lip 
Shut  firm  and  level  as  a  casket — 

I  saw  her  slip 
One  wink,  I  thought, 
For  a  true  snap-shot 
At  the  other  one  there 
Of  chin-whisker  style, 
Smooth  and  sharp  as  his  razor-smile, 

Tulips  in  his  gardened  hair. 


II 


There  's  the  question 

A  man  will  think 
Perhaps,  for  luckiness,  he  best  shun; 

One  tiny  wink 
Might  print  a  book 
Of  her  volume-look. 
All  the  other  one  got, 
On  the  face  of  things. 
Yet  how  I  envied  him  then  his  lot, 

How  an  eyelash-arrow  stings! 
950 


The    Question  951 

III 

I  saw  her  pose, 

And  no  mistake, 
Two  lips  like  ends  of  a  Plymouth  rose 

For  him  to  take, 
As  there  he  stood 
In  his  kingdom-mood 
To  know  he  could  tell, 
By  a  blink  of  her  eye, 
How  all  with  him  in  the  world  was  well 

Once  he  saw  her  pass  me  by. 

IV 

Next,  then,  the  dance — 

And  now  I  knew 
The  hour  was  come  I  must  miss  my  chance — 

His  step  was  true. 
Eye  strong  and  clean 
As  planet-sheen — 
How,  too,  he  would  dip 
To  swing  him  and  yield 
Like  a  strip  of  wheat  in  a  breezy  field. 

The  two  nearly  lip  to  lip ! 


And  I  so  short, 

So  little  built 
For  jacketing  of  the  piefinch  sort 

I  must  take  the  jilt — 
What  else  is  to  do? 
If  I  only  knew 


952  The   Question 

What  her  thought  was  there 
In  the  breast  inside 

Where  the  sotd  of  a  sweet  girl  tries  to  hide, 
Might  be  I  would  not  care. 

VI 

Next  just  outside 

At  the  balcony 
They  perched  for  a  place  to  try  to  hide, 

He  falcony, 
She  more,  I  thought. 
Like  a  pigeon  caught 
Now  I  saw  her  smile 
At  his  handsomest  face 
Like  moonlight  nests  in  my  garden-place, 

While  I  watched  them  there  the  while, 

VII 

A  moon  to  deck 

Her  brow,  her  hair. 
Put  a  new  gold  band  about  her  neck 

To  kindle  there 
Two  tourmalines. 
To  fire  their  fins 
To  fly,  to  rise. 
As  if  they  could  fit 
Their  light  to  her  smile  and  the  soul  in  it, 

Or  rival  those  spirit-eyes ! 

VIII 

And  then — well,  then, 

I  must  away 
To  the  lot  of  disappointed  men. 

Nor  stop  to  say 


The   Question  953 

How  I  could  not  blame 
(I  forget  his  name) 
My  man  of  the  chin 
Like  a  plumber's  file 
For  taking  her,  faith  first,  at  her  smile 
Of  eyes,  which  was  sure  to  win. 

IX 

Her  garden-gate 

Gaped  open  wide 
As  if  to  tell  me  the  hour  was  late 

And  my  chance  beside: 
Yet  how  to  go, 
How  to  leave  her  so? 
Or  how  could  I  stay 
Just  to  see  him  chase 
My  luck  out  with  his  maple-tree  grace 

And  lord-look  and  dimple-play? 


As  there  I  stood 

Against  the  moon 
To  hark,  in  my  silent  sorrow-mood. 

To  the  rigadoon. 
Came  there,  I  thought, 
'Though  I  saw  it  not. 
Just  a  touch  at  my  hand 
From  the  dark  behind, 
One  warm  kind  touch,  like  a  kiss  of  wind, 

Which  seemed  so  to  understand; 

XI 

Came  then  one  word : 

"Could  you  not  trust?" — 


954  The   Question 

*T  was  all  I  wanted,  't  was  all  I  heard 

In  a  whisper  just — 
And  there  her  sweet  soul 
Had  told  me  the  whole — 
What  need  was  to  task  it 
To  language  things  more 
And  her  sky-eyes  there  with  their  spirit-score? 

The  question? — what  need  to  ask  it? 


ROSALIE 


Here's  to  spring-spread  of  wing, 

Lack-a-lack, 
New  leafing  of  toppy  white  wing, 

The  blow  of  a  rose 

For  one  look,  then  to  close — 

Alas  and  alack 

Was  it  gone  that  soon 

Like  the  wink  of  a  moon. 
And  I  thought  Would  it  never  come  back? 

Youth  's  my  master,  and  the  landlord  thing 
Says  youth  is  the  only  ripening. 

II 

Here  's  to  summer  to  run, 

Lack-a-day, 
In  daffodowndilly  for  crops  of  sun, 

One  leap-up  to  laugh 

For  a  snoodful  of  chaff, 

An  armful  of  play, 

And  the  chuckle  is  gone 

Like  a  cheek  of  dawn — 
Is  there  nothing  just  over  the  way? 

A  king  is  summer,  and  says  the  king 
Summer  's  an  end  of  ripening. 
955 


956  Rosalie 

III 

There  's  my  Rosalie,  too, 
For  a  day 

Of  her  dawn-fed  summerly  lake-eye  blue 

To  flash  me  her  star 

Through  more  kinds  of  far 

Than  spaces  display. 

And  she  too  to  go 

Like  a  papilio — 
Would  she  never  come  back  for  a  day? 

A  year  is  past,  summer  is  on, 
Small  summer  and  my  Rosalie  gone ! 

IV 

Winter,  too,  at  its  breath 

Of  farewell. 
Face  put  up  like  a  mask  of  death 

To  turn  to  a  sky 

Which  appears,  too,  to  die, 

To  prove  how  all  is  well 

To  no  end  of  black 

And  the  stars  in  back 
And  my  Rosalie  there  as  well. 

More  is  an  eyeful  of  spirit  worth 

Than  the  whole  fire  flash-up  of  suns  and  earth. 


So  it  is  true  I  know. 

Past  a  doubt. 
My  Rosalie  's  more  than  your  sky-land  glow, 

More  than  I  could  see 

For  the  eyes  of  me 


Rosalie  957 

By  looking  about, 
Since  a  glow  is  there 
Of  soul  which  is  fair 
Beyond  speaking  or  all  finding  out. 

Pin  you  you  may  to  this  one  true  thing, 
There  's  more  than  one  kind  of  ripening, 

VI 

For  take  her  blue  wide  eyes 

For  a  trace 
Of  shine  I  see  in  no  suns  or  skies, 

For  a  leap  of  soul 

Through  one  glistening  whole 

Of  such  garden  grace 

As  would  point  a  way 

To  pick  soul  out  of  clay, 
Two  dew-lights  hung  in  her  bell-flower  face. 

My  heart  drums  it  no  heart  is  for  vain, 
'Though  my  Rosalie  come  not  back  again. 

VII 

There,  then,  is  how  I  know, 

Forsooth, 
'T  were  better  I  follow  to  find  her  so 

Like  a  leaf  of  light 

To  have  taken  flight 

Above  month  and  youth 

And  eyesight  and  sound 

And  this  feast  of  ground 
To  make  the  most  of  one  perfect  truth : 

Man  is  leaf  and  fruit  of  the  thing 
Since  he  fades  while  soul  is  ripening. 


A  MONK  IN  MONOTONE 

The  dear  God  knows  why  I  am  here 

Between  these  walls; 
What  save  my  honest  conscience  calls 

For  love  and  fear 
Of  him  who  rules  the  nations  to  the  end 

That  men  may  bend? 

He  knows  my  reason  why  I  came, 

With  new-made  heart, 
To  dignify,  by  cloistered  art. 

His  holy  name. 
To  bend  my  back  to  keep  such  solemn  trust 

Because  I  must. 

No  worldly  thought  to  enter  in 

To  dwarf  my  soul. 
For  I  intend  to  keep  it  whole 

And  free  of  sin, 
Shut  up  where  tempters  may  not  come  to  test, 

And  life  is  rest. 

Here  will  I  put  this  world  aside 

To  do  his  praise 
By  doing  nothing  all  my  days 

But  hum  and  stride 
Where  selfless  souls,  ere  me,  have  tuned  and  trod 

The  way  to  God. 
95^ 


A  Monk  in  Monotone  959 

I  brought  no  other  thought  or  hope 

In  coming  here 
Than  just  to  make  my  title  clear 

Where  others  grope, 
By  living  up  aloof  from  other  men 

In  cloistered  ken. 

By  giving  up  such  lively  earth 

To  pass  my  days 
Where  morning  never  trailed  its  rays, 

Where  death  is  birth, 
May  I  not  hope  to  win  my  wings  to  soar 

The  shining  shore? 

What  Heaven  that  is  not  labored  for 

Stands  worth  the  name? 
An  empty  gift,  or  much  the  same. 

Which  quits  no  score, 
'Though  one  short  life  for  endless  joy,  by  trade, 

Were  overpaid. 

I  may  not  learn  to  love  my  Lord 

Among  these  cells. 
More  hideous  than  a  hundred  hells 

In  one  accord ; 
Yet  will  he  hold  his  children  twice  as  dear 

Who  stoop  to  fear. 

Yet  had  I  thought  of  more  than  this 

In  coming  here, 
That  I  might  bring  my  blessed  cheer 

Of  benefice 
To  one  poor  soul  hard  put  to  keep  her  way 

In  life's  dismay. 


960  A  Monk  in  Monotone 

She,  for  example,  who  has  been 

Beset,  besought 
By  men  who  hold  her  soul  at  nought, 

Mere  worldish  men; 
Even  she  in  arms  as  mother,  wife,  or  pet 

Might  God  forget. 

Heaven  knows  I  only  want  her  here 

For  love  of  God, 
That  she  may  learn  to  feel  his  rod. 

To  stoop,  to  fear, 
To  put  this  world  and  ground-thoughts  straight  away 

'Till  Judgment  Day ! 

By  saving  her  I  save  my  soul, 

I  'm  svire  of  that; 
I  keep  her,  too,  from  a  two-toed  rat, 

An  eyeless  mole, 
Who  roots  his  palaces  in  unlit  sod 

Apart  from  God. 

One  day,  if  God  approve  of  me. 

Life  being  past. 
May  be  I  may  have  her  then,  at  last, 

Where  souls  are  free, 
As  compensation  for  my  generous  care 

Of  one  so  fair! 


THE  SHARK  AND  THE  LARK 
An  Allegory 

This  story  they  told  in  ancienty : 

A  man  grew  down  in  the  deepest  sea 
By  himself  there,  so  wondrously  alone 

None  knew  ever  how  he  was  grown 
To  come  there,  or  how  he  came  to  be 

A  citizen  of  the  sea. 
Sea-cobble  made  his  walk 

Where  he  should  lounge  or  stalk 
Till  it  was  strange  to  think 

How,  having  not  a  fin, 
Nor  puff  of  wind  he  could  drink  in, 

He  could  neither  rise  nor  sink 
As  little  came  to  him  to  do 

In  sea-deep,  for  nought  he  knew 
Of  what  was  about  him  or  above  him 

Save  the  great  waters  to  shape  and  shove  him 
Under  where  he  must  pickle  and  sleep 

In  the  salted  deep. 
What  was  for  him  to  pull  or  taste 

Out  of  such  stupendous  waste? 
Scarce  was  a  purpose  he  could  touch 

Or  happening  he  could  try  to  clutch 
But  water,  only  water  about, 

Still  waters,  never  ever  a  pout 
6 1  961 


962  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

Or  wink  at  him  to  say 

They  knew  any  pleasant  play 
To  tickle,  to  put  him  laughing — 
!  For  him  came  only  dreary  quaffing 

Of  Power,  an  ocean  of  frown 

To  crowd  him,  hold  him  down, 
To  bind  him,  shin  and  foot. 

So  he  should  bungle  to  stalk, 
Fetch  the  toe- tumble  of  a  coot, 

Pick  and  waddle  like  a  fork, 
Nor  think  of  it  once  to  know 
'  He  was  not  meant  to  be  shackled  so. 

Being  man-fashion-made  he  knew 

Somewhat  of  a  thing  or  two 
Of  what  he  could  be  coming  to 

Could  he  once  find  a  way  to  tower 
Above  such  wholly  water-power 

As  pinned  his  arms,  boxed  his  brain 
Till  thought  in  him  snapped  all  in  vain. 

Completely  subjugated  was  he, 
Hope  was  drowned,  life  was  drossy. 

For  nowhere  was  where  he  could  go, 
Nothing  was  what  he  could  know 

In  emptiness  of  endless  waters 
And  not  a  sign  of  sons  or  daughters 

Himself-like,  of  whom  to  learn, 
Not  a  creature  to  whom  to  turn. 

Himself  never  to  strike  one  blow 
For  mastership  to  grcaten  to  grow 

To  somewhat  more  than  he  saw 
Made  one  handcuff  water-law. 

Which  way  soever  he  sought  to  head. 
Water  made  his  garden-bed; 

Whichever  way  he  sought  to  look 


The  Shark  and  the  Lark  963 

To  compass  other  than  what  he  saw, 

Find  a  thing  worth  hving  for, 
Tap  a  snapdragon  or  a  book, 

Just  the  one  thing  he  could  see, 
Taste,  touch,  smell,  or  be, 

Polli wig-like  in  a  brook, 
A  man  in  the  gut-rule  of  the  sea. 

Power  had  him — he  could  not  bend 
To  purpose,  make  to  any  end 

Such  life  had — he  could  not  see 
Thought  to  grow  to  or  thing  to  be 

Save  clam-like  to  drink  his  sky 
Of  ocean  all  overhead. 

Flap  his  mud-path  under  foot, 
Ply  the  wing-work  of  a  newt 

To  find  him  a  place  to  die — 
All  his  soul  in  him  mostly  dead. 

Chorus  of  Shark 

Up  to  you  now, 
Polish  your  pins. 
Give  us  the  vow 
To  think  less 
Of  your  shins. 
To  play  chess 
With  your  fins — 
Up  to  you  now 
Any  way, 
Any  how 
Which  you  may! 
Flap  your  pins 
Into  fins, 
Wallop  arms 
Into  palms, 


964  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

Twist  the  things 
Into  wings 
As  you  hark 
To  the  shark ! 
Up  to  you  now, 
There  's  a  way 
To  know  how 
To  unclay, 
There  's  a  thing 
You  could  do 
By  a  wing 
If  you  knew — 
There  's  a  way 
And  a  view 
Of  the  skies 
If  you  knew 
How  to  rise — 
Up  to  you  now 
Heel  and  brow, 
Paddle  fins 
Till  motion 
Begins, 
Till  ocean 
Unpins, 
Cut  a  way 
Through  the  dark 
Up  to  day 
As  you  hark 
To  the  shark — 
You  the  man, 
You  've  a  nowl 
And  a  span. 
You  've  a  soul 
And  you  can — 


The  Shark  and  the  Lark  965 

Take  to  smacks 
Above  sculp, 
Sticklebacks, 
Take  to  tracks 
Above  pulp, 
Above  bars, 
Get  a  gulp 
Of  the  stars! 

There  he  barkened  and  learned, 

There  he  bosomed  and  burned 
To  be  up,  to  put  might 

To  the  thought  to  take  flight 
Beyond  slime,  above  cephalopod 

To  conquer  his  water-power  God, 
Crush  under  foot-fall  so  as  to  cower 

A  whole  ocean  of  Power. 
Flap  went  his  palms  to  the  finger-nibs. 

Elbows  sharpened  to  dig  his  ribs 
As  there  by  one  little  shoulder-motion 

He  begun  to  climb  in  the  ocean. 
Begun,  by  his  wing- work,  to  put 

His  grave  of  waters  under  foot. 

Shark 

Up  to  you  now, 
Hark  to  the  shark, 
Stick  to  your  vow, 
Strike  at  your  mark, 
Nor  you  count 
It  for  far 
So  you  mount 
To  a  star 


966  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

For  a  mark, 
And  you  hark 
To  the  shark! 

Light  slips  in,  dark  ducks  out, 

Power  has  less  of  venom-pout 
As  he  rises,  learns  how  to  prop 

Seas  overhead  to  bursting  top. 
Up  to  him  now — now  he  comes  to  pass 

Where  sun  tears  the  sea  into  stripes  of  thread, 
Buckles  them  into  drops  of  glass 

— How  they  grow  olive,  claret-red! — 
And  now  for  a  first  time  he  knew 

Beauty  could  tear  a  sea  in  two. 

Shark 

Up  to  you  now, 
Mind  you  the  shark, 
Every  way  how. 
Every  way  hark : 
Out  of  your  crib 
Pick  a  way  up, 
Rattle  your  rib. 
Fight  a  way  up 
Nor  you  stop 
Till  you  get 
To  the  top 
Of  all  wet- 
Have  a  care 
To  the  sheen 
Which  is  there 
In  between. 
That  you  keep 
Your  one  way 


The  Shark  and  the  Lark  967 

Up  the  steep, 
Up  to  day, 
That  you  stop 
Not  to  see 
If  a  drop 
Of  it  be 
Any  red, 
Any  blue — 
Overhead 
Is  for  you 
Wholly  blue 
If  you  knew, 
Red  and  gold 
In  it  too —       , 
Have  a  hold, 
Have  a  care 
Not  to  stop 
Anywhere 
For  a  prop 
On  the  stair 
Of  the  sea — 
Everywhere 
Is  to  be. 
Is  to  do, 
Everywhere 
Is  the  red 
And  the  blue 
Overhead 
And  for  you! 

Heavy  was  the  sea  to  hold  him  tight, 

Push  as  he  could,  elbow  as  he  might; 

Power  was  one  purpose  to  hold  him  down : 
He  should  govern  mightiness  or  drown, 


968  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

Nor  chance  to  him  to  dodge  or  juggle, 

Fist-first  headed  for  just  the  struggle 
To  force  him  to  widen  to  breathe, 

Tread  the  tough  waters  underneath. 
Night  was  on,  each  star  was  out 

Now  he  drew  near  the  upper  end 
Where  the  sea  begun  to  split  and  bend 

Into  scowl,  spit  froth  and  pout. 
One  star  first  he  saw,  then  two. 

Tongues  of  copper  and  lapis-blue, 
Then  a  whole  eye-face  of  skies 

Looked  the  look  down  never  dies. 

Shark 

Up  to  you  now, 
Hold  to  your  vow — 
There  's  the  beach 
Within  reach; 
Now  is  night. 
Soon  is  dawn, 
Fetch  a  span, 
Take  to  flight 
If  you  can ; 
Soon  is  morn, 
Soon  a  man 
Will  be  born 
To  the  world 
To  be  hockled 
And  cockled 
And  pearled — 
Take  a  leap 
From  the  deep 
To  the  deep, 


The  Shark  and  the  Lark  969 

Take  a  view 
Of  the  blue 
And  the  red 
Overhead — 
Beauty  there 
On  the  beach 
Within  reach, 
Which  is  fair, 
Which  is  rare 
As  a  fold 
Of  the  gold 
Of  her  hair — 
See  the  girl. 
See  her  there 
As  she  waits 
Like  a  pearl 
In  the  gates 
Of  the  sky 
For  you  there 
With  an  eye 
Like  a  lip 
Of  the  moon. 
With  a  lip 
Like  an  eye-pit 
Of  June! 
Up  to  you  now 
To  your  vow, 
To  the  girl 
Within  reach, 
To  the  pearl 
On  the  beach ! 

What  now,  what  was  to  think  or  tell 
As  there  for  his  first  time  he  saw 


970  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

Beauty,  the  thing  worth  climbing  for, 

Beauty,  like  soul's  eternal  spell, 
Beauty  above  him  and  around 

From  sun-God  to  Sun- wonder  ground? 
Chick-like  he  broke  his  shell 

Of  ocean  to  make  way 
Upward  into  amazing  day 

Of  tree-leaf,  choristry,  sky-fire. 
Seeming  to  beckon  him  one  notch  higher 

Above  lavender  in  each  field, 
Lark-eyed  song,  purple  yield 

Of  zinfandel,  little  sparks 
Of  dew  to  laugh  while  the  lilac  harks, 

A  sky  of  sun-dust  to  make  night 
Only  one  new  finer  kind  of  light. 

There  he  was  now  at  her  feet 
To  kiss  the  sand  her  foot-fall  stirred — 

Only  his  talking  heart  was  heard, 
So  full  his  soiil  was,  so  complete 

Her  Beauty  there  where  she  stood 
Against  the  sun  for  a  yellow  hood 

Knotted  so  in  ribbons  of  leven 
One  would  think  she  was  half  in  heaven — 

There  he  gathered  in  each  hand 
Each  footstep  she  left  in  the  sand 

Once  he  saw  the  sea  reaching  through 
To  gather  the  same  footsteps  too. 

Up  she  beckoned  him  to  rise. 
To  draw  nearer  her  lips  and  eyes. 

And— 
Now  hand  in  hand  they  were  off 

To  the  woods,  to  the  fields. 
Fruitful  and  never  enough 

Which  such  love-time  yields — 


The  Shark  and  the  Lark  971 

Up  to  the  edge  of  a  stream, 

Down  in  the  deep  to  look 
As  there  like  a  printed  dream 
Found  in  a  picture-book 
He  knew  her  image  in  the  brook, 

Her  rose-bush  lips,  her  melted  eyes 
Deep  in  the  stream  where  they  stopped, 

As  if  she  had  dropped 
From  the  skies — 

Then  came  his  wonder- thought, 
Was  she  or  was  she  not 

Like  as  the  dorn, 
Water-bred,  water-bom, 

Or  as  there  was  her  red,  her  blue 
In  the  sky,  like  her  too, 

Was  truth  of  it  this :  did  she  spring 
From  the  sky  like  a  wing? — 

Or,  had  he  made  his  mistake 
When  he  essayed  to  forsake 
The  water  where  she  was 
In  its  emerald  paws? — 
Right  as  he  looked  apace 
In  the  stream  at  her  face, 
Right  as  he  looked,  while  she  saw 
Her  image  was  what  he  angled  for, 
Sudden  she  turned  her  lips  his  way, 
Her  eyes  too,  as  if  to  say: 
"I  love  you — what  do  you  see 
In  the  brook  there  for  gree? 
W^ill  you  not  have  one  look  to  me? 
Nothing  my  image  is  in  the  stream, 
Like  me  'though  the  picture  seem ; 
Up  to  you  now,  have  a  look  to  vSee 
For  fair  how  vou  like  the  looks  of  me ! 


972  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

"Come  away, 
Here  's  the  breath  of  a  day, 

Come  to  me, 
Here  's  a  world  you  shall  see! 
Here  's  a  pocket  of  soul  to  unclay— 

Come  away! 

"Flesh  and  blood 
For  an  end  of  all  good — 

Blood  and  lip 
For  the  sake  of  a  sip — 
Mark  how  the  dafifodil-wing  is  trued. 

Dyed  and  dewed! 

"Cheek  or  chest 
And  the  thing  is  for  best — 

Here  's  to  blood 
For  an  end  of  all  good — 
Beauty  to  have  and  to  hold  and  love, 

Nothing  above ! 

"To  the  lark 
And  his  song  in  the  park! 

To  the  flower 
That  will  die  in  an  hour! 
Seize  you  the  thing  in  life  which  is  fair, 

Have  a  care! 

"To  the  field 
For  its  blossomy  yield ! 

To  the  lip 
For  a  hungering  dip ! 
Beauty  to  have  and  to  hold  and  love, 

Nothing  above!" 


The  Shark  and  the  Lark  973 

Hand  in  hand  they  were  off 

To  pick  their  way  in  meadows, 
Hark  to  the  grassquit  in  his  trough 

Of  sun- wash,  see  him  dodge  the  shadows 
Of  a  quince,  then  shuttle  in  and  out 

To  fetch  his  joy-warble  to  a  shout. 
Over  beyond  was  fenugreek, 

Costmary,  squirrel-squeak 
For  welcome,  his  pretty  way  to  shout 

His  afternoonful  part, 
Rhapsody  of  one  flooded  heart 

For  joy  just,  past  all  thinking  out. 
Next  about  him  and  all  around 

Hung  each  glistening  dew-bell 
In  the  grasses  like  a  bluebell 

Till  he  thought  the  stars  were  in  the  ground. 
Fineness,  such  fineness  as  could  blink 

Out  of  each  little  planet-wink 
Held  him  in  arms — high  madrigal 

Of  silver  wind  and  waterfall 
Caught  his  soul,  each  new  dance 

Of  fiy-life  put  him  into  trance, 
While  over  and  above  them  all 

Was  she  there,  who  kept  her  show-peach  cheek 
To  picture  what  she  could  not  speak, 

One  eye-light  of  preternatural 
Fireful  longing  of  endless  love, 

Nought  like  it,  no  one  thing  above 
To  so  capture  his  wealth  of  soul 

As  now  to  seem  like  the  rounded  whole 
Of  star-life,  anemone,  rainbow-rod. 

One  supremest  daughter  of  God 
For  man  just — now  he  is  up 

At  her  lip — a  flower  at  the  dew  will  sup — 


974  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

Ever^^whcrc  and  all  ways  and  now 

He  is  fast  at  her  cheek  and  brow 
As  heart  points  and  soul  knows  how 

To  look  such  Beautifulness  through 
To  seize  her  very  soul  there  too — 

There  in  their  starlight  hour, 
Each  to  each,  like  sun  and  flower 

For  Majesty  of  heart  to  heart, 
All  soul- world,  souls  not  meant  to  part 

In  any  kind  of  smashing  weather. 
Else  why  should  they  have  come  together  ?- 

All  his  is  she,  all  his  love, 
All  air  is  his  and  to  breathe. 

One  sky-sweep  of  worlds  above. 
One  burst  of  blossom  underneath — 

His,  his,  to  have  it,  to  keep  it, 
His  just  so  that  he  may  reap  it. 

All  sky  one  inverted  wonder-cup 
To  empty,  and  he  to  fill  him  up — 

Lover  and  field  and  friend 
And  potful  and  there  an  end — 

Did  he  not  outgrow  the  sea 
To  compass  land  and  hand  and  sky 

From  bottom-deep  to  endless  high? 
What  more  is  to  think  of  to  be? 

Right  as  they  were  bounded  there 
Overhead  by  planeted  sky, 
Underneath  by  the  thoroughfare 
Of  pimpernels  and  palms. 

East  and  west  by  each  other's  arms, 
Lip  against  lip,  sigh  for  sigh 

In  their  sweet  evening  about  to  die, 
One  soul  there  'twixt  face  and  face 


The  Shark  and  the  Lark  975 

And  clinging  to  its  hiding  place 
Like  a  tear-drop  in  a  last  embrace, 

Sudden  there  flew  one  note  from  the  lark 
As  he  mounted  his  star- way  up  the  dark: 

The  Lark 

Up  to  you  now, 

This  is  the  wind, 

Think  of  it  how 

The  sea  has  been  thinned, 

How  the  sea 

Was  be-finned 

Till  it  flew! 

Once  was  the  sea, 

Now  is  the  wind, 

Once  was  the  sea 

Whittled  and  thinned 

Till  it  flew, 

Till  it  drew 

Soul  and  sigh, 

Till  it  flew 

To  the  sky! 

Up  to  you  now, 

Clean  above  earth! 

What  is  this  brow 

Of  bed-rock  worth? 

Here  's  a  way 

Above  day. 

Above  dark 

And  you  hark 

To  a  lay 

Of  the  lark! 

Once  were  vou  there 


976  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 


In  the  sea, 

Beginning  to  be, 

Beginning  to  rise; 

Now  the  air 

Is  for  fair 

For  the  skies. 

Now  the  blue 

Is  for  you 

That  you  rise! 

Heavy  the  sea. 

Heavy  the  air, 

Man  is  to  do 

And  to  be 

And  to  dare 

To  be  free 

Of  the  sea 

And  the  air! 

Harken  to  me 

As  you  hark. 

Capture  the  glee 

Of  the  lark! 

To  the  air 

Where  it  thins 

And  is  fair! 

To  the  star 

Where  it  spins 

And  is  far 

As  Beauty  that  wins! 

To  an  end 

Is  never 

A  way. 

And  a  day 

Is  forever; 

To  ascend 


The  Shark  and  the  Lark  977 

Is  a  goal 

Of  the  soul ; 

From  Beauty  that  sleeps 

As  it  dies 

To  Beauty  that  keeps 

To  the  skies 

Bend  a  wing, 

Strike  a  claw 

At  the  thing, 

Not  to  touch, 

Not  to  clutch 

At  it,  nor 

To  have  it  to  reap 

Or  to  keep 

To  recompense 

Longing  to  glut 

Any  sense, 

Any  gut — 

Small  what  you  get, 

All  what  you  are 

To  grow  to  yet, 

Yon  crimson  star 

Just  to  be 

Beauty  the  thing. 

Just  to  be 

The  musical  ring 

And  gold-angled  wing 

That  you  see 

As  I  fly 

Over  sea 

Against  sky — 

Just  to  be 

What  you  see 

Is  in  me, 


978  The  Shark  and  the  Lark 

Beauty  the  thing 
Of  musical  wing, 
Just  to  be 
Beauty  to  rise 
Over  wind  and  sea, 
Over  skies, 
Beauty  to  choose 
And  to  lose 
Just  to  be 
Beauty  the  thing 
Of  philomel-ring, 
Star-spotted  wing, 
Beauty  to  be! 


COR  CORDIUM' 

Did  he  not  make  the  way  to  you  pretty  plain, 
Fine  Shelley,  and  such  heart-ring  in  his  note 

To  soar  so  high,  then  back  again 

Just  to  set  the  soul  of  you  afloat. 

And  you  would  scarce  look  to  see 

How  he  was  love-lit  and  true  and  free? 

He  took  his  one  way  to  know  what  is  true. 
Not  your  way  nor  any  man's,  so  he  came 

To  be  the  self  and  whole  of  him  too — 

What  whirlwind  behind  a  lip  of  flame ! 

Still  scarce  you  looked  and  he  was  gone, 
He  that  was  so  much  to  look  upon. 

You  frowned  because  he  would  not  beg  nor  simper 
Nor  put  a  psalm-eyed  face  up — how  odd 

He  should  pipe  his  lip  without  a  whimper 
And  he  himself  a  whole  human  God ! 

There  's  man  to  be,  man  to  help, 

So  why  this  meek  smirking  chancel-yelp? 

He  was  the  man  of  him  through  and  through 
To  make  for  such  free  play  as  you  see 

When  a  new  star  pricks  the  open  blue 

To  show  there  are  more  worlds  yet  to  be. 

And,  so,  more  man,  one  higher  sort 

Than  you  have  littled  that  he  may  be  bought. 

'  Inscription  above  the  grave  of  Shelley. 
979 


980  Cor  Cordium 

How  he  was  true — not  a  small  thing  mattered 
Nor  great  but  he  should  be  all  he  knew 

And  straight  to  it,  not  as  you  scattered, 
And  just  for  one  Godlike  love  of  you — 

As  if  a  man  shall  not  be 

Great  as  he  may  think  to  feel  or  sec! 

As  if  I  am  natured  to  button  up 

This  soul  like  a  body  in  a  jacket 
To  suit  your  fashion,  pelt  and  cup, 

You  to  pick  the  dough-mix  so  you  may  pack  it, 
I  to  mark  toe-time,  tap  to  tap, 

Just  inside  the  girdle  of  your  strap ! 

Free  as  a  bush-bird  to  wing  about 

New  sky-spaces  for  random  to  see 

And  know  and  hang  to  for  not  a  doubt, 

Like  a  white  wind  laps  from  sea  to  sea. 

And  you  thought  your  cowl-cage  wide  enough 
For  him  and  his  no-end  of  love. 

And  he  the  philomel,  clean  out  loud 

And  flute-noted  to  such  flash  of  song 

As  streaked  the  heavens  to  split  a  cloud 
And  you  get  the  echo  back  so  long 

As  soulfulness  and  wholefulncss  may  last. 

In  spite  of  your  mouth-mock  and  chancel-caste; 

He  the  white  bream  in  a  puddled  sea, 

Would  fling  himself  out  to  get  more  sight 

Which  blinded  soon  as  he  looked  to  see, 
Like  a  star  blinks  with  glut  of  light, 

Then  plunged,  as  if  for  love  of  a  grave 

And  dark  once  more,  in  the  pitfall  wave. 


Cor  Cordium  9S1 

The  love  of  him,  too,  how  that  was  full 

Like  wind-warm  June  in  a  school  of  flowers 

It  put  there,  one  whole  bosomful 

Of  his  best  spring-song-sweeted  hours ! 

Yet  you  would  not  hark,  'though  his  mouth  was  pearled, 
Passionate  rejected  lover  of  a  world ! 


AMONG  THE  MOONBEAMS 

What  a  night  it  was,  now  I  passed 
Out  through  my  cow-lane  pointed  east 
Into  a  meadow's  moon-ended  plot 
Of  broken  brooks — each  bog  was  grassed 
And  moon-lit  to  make  a  feast 
For  hollow  sheep  or  loriot ! 
I  dogged  a  path  which -dogged  a  hedge 
That  drew  like  a  lasso  'round  the  place, 
As  if  to  say,  for  once  are  you  caught. 
You  and  your  bog  and  moon  and  sedge 
For  no  escape  from  such  sweet  embrace, 
Whether  you  will  or  not ! 
The  path  was  new  with  sea-spoon  shells. 
Moon-spikes  through  them,  while  now  and  then 
The  pink  enamel  would  unfold 
To  yellow  and  curl  and  close  again 
Like  a  ring  in  a  loop  of  marigold. 
Straight  as  a  tulip  night  stood  up, 
Each  star  dropped  down  one  clear  plumb  line, 
Each  flower  was  put  like  a  careful  cup 
To  swallow  such  opulent  shine 
As  I  have  not  seen  in  a  wealth  of  years; 
All  shapes  of  moon-bom  shadows 
Played  with  flowers  in  the  meadows: 
Pea-bloom,  wild  hop,  bryony; 
Suckle-vine  toyed  with  peony; 
982 


Among  the  Moonbeams  983 

Bell-wether  and  bull-bells  crossed  tinkle, 

Heart-leap  was  through  me,  forest  prime 

Was  all  ears  up  to  catch  the  chime 

And  dew-drip  of  amber  sprinkle 

To  hang  a  pearl  from  each  harking  leaf — 

The  whole  night  outlook  was  past  belief 

As  I  was  headed  to  know  not  where 

Nor  for  what  purpose  I  wandered  there 

In  the  moon-painted  air. 

So  comes  it  and  what  is  it, 

Such  spirit-footed  sense  exquisite 

Will  lead  me,  put  me  here  or  there, 

Ask  not  nor  tell  me  why  or  how 

I  duck  to  it  my  lowly  bow. 

Go  the  one  way  I  thought  of  least, 

Whether  it  be  south  or  east. 

Most  like  a  thrasher  from  bough  to  bough 

To  never  know  one  why  or  how. 

Save  all  things  turn  out  best 

And  he  comes  straight-safe  to  his  nest? 

For  there  at  the  meadow-end 

Where  my  black  pond-brook  fetched  a  bend 

To  circle  and  coil  and  straighten  again. 

Like  a  serpent  in  a  twist  of  pain, 

Stood  the  forest-edge,  while  just  inside. 

As  if  she  were  trying  her  way  to  hide, 

Lo,  my  Rosalie! — who  should  think 

To  find  her  there  like  a  startled  bird 

Caught  bobbing  at  the  gold-eyed  brink 

Of  night,  my  step  once  overheard — 

And  then — what  were  night-eyes  to  me  then? — 

Moon -lush  in  tulip-spoons  were  vain 

Now  I  could  have  my  garnet-girl 

At  her  breath  of  love  again ! 


984  Among  the  Moonbeams 

Down  wc  sat  in  a  clumj)  of  moss 

To  not  once  think  how  it  hap])cned  so 

That  we  should  meet,  what  the  meaning  was, 

Thought  not  nor  cared  to  know, 

Save  what  I  saw  in  her  cheek, 

How  spirit  looks  what  it  may  not  speak, 

And  I  there  with  not  one  word 

I  could  unbottle  more  than  a  bird 

With  not  a  note  that  was  ever  heard. 

Sat  we  heart  in  hand; 

The  stars  outside  were  quite  forgot, 

So  were  my  moon-meadow-plot 

And  hazel-flower,  for  one  finer  land 

Soul  takes  to,  puts  worlds  aside — 

Night  and  all  now  try  to  hide 

And  my  sweet  girl  there,  heart  and  hand. 

To  prove  the  one  truth — this  is  it: 

Beyond  and  above  all  mountain-spit 

To  pinnacle  of  hollow  air 

Is  other  and  deeper  Beauty  spread, 

Soul-sense  which  put  the  planets  there 

And  all  the  spotted  sky  and  red, 

Tucked  a  universe  into  space 

Of  blue  true  head,  eye-gold  face. 

Yet  will  drop  the  keen  crimson  whole, 

Star-look,  bryony,  meadow-nowl 

For  Beauty  in  one  human  soul, 

To  show,  for  truth,  how  soul 

Makes  finer  than  the  finest  whole. 

Everything  about  was  changed, 

Lavender  hedge,  globird  bob, 

Each  brook-sweep  got  rearranged. 

My  heart  struck  sharp  as  if  to  mob 

Breath  out  of  me — call  it  weak. 


Among  the  Moonbeams  985 

Or  love  or  life,  what  you  will, 

The  very  soul  of  me  was  that  still 

I  could  not  speak,  I  could  not  speak! 

One  myrtle-bush,  by  seeming  hap, 

Stooped  to  toying  at  her  lap, 

The  which  she  plucked,  forked  the  leaves 

On  stems,  like  one  who  reeves  and  weaves, 

Yet  not  one  word,  scarce  an  eye 

My  way,  so  sure  she  was  and  shy 

Of  what  she  meant  to  do,  while  I 

Sat  watching,  throbbing,  tried  to  weave 

One  thought  together  to  tell  her — what? 

How  I  was  all  Forget-Her-Not 

And  no  other  wish,  no  other  thought, 

When — not  one  word  I  could  guess  to  hear, 

Wondered  if  ever  spirit  spoke 

If  freed  once  from  here 

And  its  yester-yoke — 

Right  where  she  sat  and  the  moon  plunged  through 

To  choke  her  cheek  and  to  stay  there  too 

As  I  looked  wounded  that  could  not  sip 

One  little  breath  at  the  amber  lip, 

She  looped  her  chain  of  knotted  leaf, 

Gave  it  one  gentle  toss  and  brief 

About  my  neck — there  was  no  use, 

She  had  me  in  her  myrtle-noose, 

Drew  me  to  her  that  soft  and  shy 

And  slow-like,  but  so  surely,  I, 

Now  lost  in  her  lips  and  arms  and  eyes 

And  heart-rush,  seized  my  prize. 

Could  have  laid  me  there  to  die 

Now  I  saw  in  her  worded  eyes  and  cheek 

How  the  angels  know  and  you  never  speak. 


AT  A  WINDOW 

One  sunbright  morning 

Out  of  a  cockle-shell  sky 
Spread  like  a  tattooed  awning, 

My  Annabel  and  I 
In  an  east-window  stood 

Up  above  the  world  so  high 
We  could  look  down  where  men  are  glued 

To  the  turf,  we  could  look  up  to  the  sky. 

Sun  pelted  the  glass 

As  spirit  pelts  you. 
Now  to  make  green  stripes  pass. 

Now  to  get  a  quiver  of  blue, 
Till  I  thought:  That  way  soul 

Plunges  through  me,  through  you, 
To  get  a  shape  which  is  new, 

Another  kind  of  foot  and  nowl, 
Get  a  tone  which  is  true, 

Finer  than  any  green  or  blue, 
Unworlded  and  unbonded  too. 

There  were  we  in  our  window-nook 

To  take  one  morning  look. 
She  to  the  world  below 

For  its  pimple-fuss  of  show. 
Bronze  on  each  ])apilio, 

Bubbles  for  their  pufi  and  blow, 
986 


At  a  Window  9^7 

I  to  look  to  my  sky 

For  the  silence  of  it  and  size, 
Such  worlds  of  far-sighted  eyes, 

To  think  how  far,  how  high! 

Seemed  it  like  we  were  made 

Each  for  the  other  that  day, 
As  at  the  window  we  played 

At  thought,  and  I  had  this  to  say: 
Vast  is  the  yonder  to  you, 

Mighty  sky  in  gentle  blue. 
More  than  you  could  fathom  through — 

Is  it,  then,  no  part  of  you? 

But  each  little  counts  so  much, 

One  atom  part  of  eternity. 
Yet  is  it  less  than  I  may  see. 

Nothing  that  I  may  touch! 
Mighty  more  is  the  soul  in  you, 

'Though  it  lie  in  mask,  perdue. 

I  love  my  swamp  of  sky. 

So  far  off,  so  endless  high. 
Such  triumph  of  sublimity, 

Not  so  much  for  such  greatness  there. 
For  what  climbs  beyond  starways  fair. 

As  that  it  points  a  new  thing  to  see. 
Vaster  than  all  magnality. 

Points  me  my  soul  in  me. 

But  she  must  look  down  to  her  world: 
There  goes  a  man  has  been  earled, 

Nails  coppered,  knuckles  pearled, 
Head  for  most  part  occiput, 

Swings  his  little  pulpit  strut. 


988  At  a  Window 

Never  larger  than  his  rut 
He  runs  in,  while  he  whispers  "  tut!  " 

Now,  then,  now  she  looks 

Down  to  her  world  below 
For  a  smattering  of  Dukes, 

For  their  pig-track  way  they  go, 
Spider- work,  backs  to  bristle 

With  the  kindness  of  a  thistle — 
What  matters  the  cold  soul  in  them 

If  fire  fire  their  pongee-gem? 

So  much  easier  to  look  down, 

So  much  harder  to  look  high, 

While  there  the  blue  circle  of  sky 
Rests  like  one  perfect  crown 

Of  goldstones  in  pyramis 
Forever  on  all  that  is ! 

In  the  world  are  boons  to  be  got, 

Pin-trinkets,  garden  plot, 
Moose-bird,  clam  and  pot, 

Your  world  of  God  and  slave, 
Your  chance  royal  to  play  knave, 

Hell  to  threaten,  Christ  to  save — 
Yet  what  goes  high  as  high  behavior, 

Each  one  his  own  God  and  Savior? 

She  would  let  go  my  hand. 
Clutch  at  the  underland 

While  I  held  to  my  ground, 
Held  to  where  I  stood 

By  the  hold  of  a  hound 
In  my  lifted  mood! 

Down  she  would  go  to  earth 


At  a  Window  989 

For  its  one-day  worth 
Of  painted  grass, 

Let  my  sky-fields  pass. 

Overhead  what  was  there  mueh? 

Worlds  with  wings  on,  beyond  clutch, 
Nothing  she  could  taste  or  touch. 

And  so  to  earth  she  will  go. 
Tie  to  her  kadamba  tree 

For  flowers  overhead,  to  see 
How  they  fetch  such  yellow  blow, 

Never  to  learn  they  do  it 
By  climbing  from  what  is  small, 

Just  by  climbing  to  it — 
There  's  the  secret  of  life  and  all ! 

That  way  so  we  parted; 

Back  to  her  world  she  went, 
Her  ground  froin  which  she  started, 

Left  me  to  my  firmament 
To  look  from  my  window  alone. 

To  look  to  my  amber  zone 
Where  worlds  have  dwindled  while  soul  has  grown. 

Always  will  come  to  me  that  morning 

Under  our  tattooed  awning. 
Her  warm  voice,  her  hand  in  mine. 

Her  way  she  looked  to  me 
As  if  not  meaning  to  see 

This  leaf  of  columbine. 
The  one  she  tossed  to  me 

As  there  she  went  her  way — 
I  sit  at  my  window  prone. 

Always  to  look  to  my  amber  zone, 
And  so  I  look — but  I  look  alone! 


JEALOUS 

"I  KNEW — I  could  sec  your  look  at  him 
Through  the  finger-spread  tree-box  over  the  way; 
See  you  caliper-map  him,  limb  and  limb, 
Trace  a  soul  out  of  clay. 

"Only  a  man  on  the  outer  rim 

To  be  mirrored  and  tape-measured  'round  about; 

Coat  and  waistcoat  filled  spick  to  trim, 

Spirit  left  out. 

"To  look  at — which  was  all  you  could  do — 
Such  strong  new  face,  heart  mustered  out, 
Was  enough;  his  stone-cold  features  grew 
To  be  perfect,  no  doubt! 

"Next,  I  saw  you  drop  your  handkerchief, 
And  stooping  half  over  to  pick  it  up 
You  gave  him  a  look  past  all  belief, 
Fairly  leered  at  the  pup ! 

"You  would  rather  keep  one  eye  on  him 
Than  two  hands  on  me;  so  your  world  runs  away 
At  a  dash  on  an  idle  whim, 
A  woman's  one  way. 

"Is  there  the  soul  or  half  a  gleam 
From  head  to  heart  of  him,  sifted  through. 
To  prop  one  thought  of  an  idle  dream 
Of  his  loving  you? 

990 


Jealous  991 

"Is  there  not  proof  you  watched  for  hours, 
Wrapped  in  a  side  window's  green  curtain  fold, 
To  see  him  stop  to  cradle  you  flowers 
By  a  blade  made  of  gold? 

"Is  there  not  proof  your  heart  struck  fast 
And  sharp  at  the  ribs  of  its  prison  cell 
To  escape  to  seize  him  at  last, 
Catch  the  lie  he  should  tell  ? 

"A  tomtit  perched  in  a  blade  of  grass 

And  you  make  of  him  more  than  the  great  could  claim ; 

More  than  the  soul  of  my  singing  has 

Is  the  chirp  of  his  name. 

"Shall  a  man  pass  for  more  than  he  is 
Because  nature  rounded  him  up  in  the  cheek, 
Tipped  his  lips  hot  to  red  as  a  kiss. 
But  forbade  him  to  speak? 

" I  am  convenient — to  lean  upon; 
Could  set  out  a  tree  in  the  world,  no  doubt, 
Somewhat  to  think  of  when  I  am  gone 
And  the  world  finds  me  out. 

"The  animal  in  him  holds  j'-ou  fast, 
Like  an  anaconda  unspirits  a  wren 
Till  all  his  singing  hour  be  past 
And  snows  dance  again. 

"Fine  bones  new-made  and  his  face  is  true. 
But  sense  and  the  heart  of  it,  what  of  them? 
Think  you  the  sun  pencils  red  to  blue 
Without  piercing  a  gem? 


992  Jealous 

"And  you,  are  you  once  wiser  than  he, 

That  could  link  your  luck  to  him,  think  him  wise, 

See  in  him  more  than  the  saints  could  be, 

Nor  a  point  to  despise? 

"Make  most  of  him,  so,  now  you  can; 
Time  pinches,  you  shall  be  mine  ere  long; 
Power  sticks  to  the  man  who  is  always  a  man; 
Things  fly  to  the  strong." 

Next  day  he  found  her  between  two  wings 
Of  a  forest  edge  in  a  summer  light 
To  bewail  such  power  of  earthly  things 
To  twist  wrong  out  of  right ; 

Sighing  only — here  was  her  thought. 
That  Truth  might  claim  him  truly  as  she 
Who  made  him  her  love  and  her  lot ; 
He  was  hers — only  he. 

She  was  all  for  him — love  made  it  so ; 
No  thought  nor  look  meant  for  other  men; 
"One  day,  not  far  ofiE,  he  shall  know, 
When  my  heart  sings  again." 

Love  lives  alert,  like  any  valued  thing; 
A  nest  to  loot  and  ravish — always  't  was  so, 
All  as  this  pompon  rose  will  drive  a  sting, 
Frost  prick  through  the  snow. 

That  way  a  man  shall  be  whipped  into  form, 
Like  a  seashell  pitches  each  pretty  key 
From  ocean's  thunder-strokes  of  pelt  and  storm 
To  hand  me  melody ! 


AT  THE  ALTAR 


The  church  was  rich.     So,  too,  was  the  priest; 
Moonstones  in  his  knuckles. 
Half  a  dozen  there  at  least ; 
One  silver  bunch  of  buckles 

At  his  wrist 

Which  he  kissed. 
For  they  fastened  souls,  and  so 
There  was  Beauty  in  each  claw-jaw  and  tentacle  and  toe. 

II 

The  place  was  bright.     So,  too,  was  the  priest; 
Cunning  in  his  teaching. 
And  of  reason,  what  a  feast! 
Such  power  was  in  his  preaching 

There  was  dread 

When  he  said: 
Give  what  you  have,  or  cherish 
Small  hope  of  putting  wing  above  the  tumble-bugs  that  perish. 

Ill 

The  people,  they  were  poor  as  a  straw, 
Stuck  to  life  by  hoping 
They  could  one  day  fill  his  craw 
By  steadfast  fast  and  moping, 
63  993 


994  At  the  Altar 

Keeping  poor 

To  be  sure 
Of  their  chance  of  Heaven  the  way 
He  told  them  of — no  hope  for  him  who  would  not  fast  and  pay. 

IV 

At  the  altar,  which  was  malachite, 
Jasper- jawed,  gold-beaded 
To  lend  just  that  pomp  and  might 
His  stupid  doctrine  needed, 

He  would  kneel 

To  appeal 
For  more  power,  more  gold,  and  so 

He  kept  the  peoples'  pockets  poor  who  kneeled  and  feared 
him  so. 


One  day  came  little  Ida,  each  cheek 
Poor  and  white  for  wasting. 
Scarce  a  lip  to  her  to  speak, 
Scarce  more  she  got  than  tasting, 

Crossed  her  hands 

Like  two  bands 
Of  pale  silk  at  the  back  of  her. 

So  the  father  might  not  look  to  see  how  white  and  thin  they 
were, 

VI 

As  at  the  altar  she  took  her  stand. 
Now  the  crowd  was  pressing. 
Dropped  a  guinea  in  his  hand. 
Then  knelt  to  get  his  blessing — 


At  the  Altar  995 

You  could  see 

Surely  she 
Had  given  all — not  a  sou 
Was  left  to  her  that  night  to  pull  the  little  body  through. 

VII 

Poor  child — but  God  knows  his  way,  be  sure, 
Knows  your  knuckles  glisten, 
Knows  each  way  you  rob  the  poor, 
Then  pray,  smirk,  thumb  and  listen. 

Have  a  care, 

Father  Snare, 
You  '11  hand  it  back  by  inches 
In  a  land  where  justice  waits  to  pinch  it  out  of  you  by  pinches! 


VIII 


Your  church — there  it  flies  towards  Heaven, 

Makes  one  rainhow  orbit 

Not  higher  than  the  clouds  even, 

And  you  think  so  much  of  it 

With  its  girth 

Back  to  earth. 
Like  an  arrow  rises  to  dip. 

To  spread  the  wings  of  an  angel — there  's  poison  there  at  the 
tip! 


IX 


At  the  altar  next  I  saw  them  lay 
Little  Ida  Lowly, 
Hands  crossed  till  Judgment  Day, 
The  great  gong  said  it  slowly — 


996  At  the  Altar 

Gentle  bells, 

Sorrow  bells, 
For  right  where  the  rain  was  mobbing 

They  laid  her  down  by  nightfall — there  the  heart  of  Heaven 
was  sobbing. 


SWORD  AND  PEN 

Put  up  the  sword, 

Pick  up  the  pen, 

Trickle  one  word 

To  the  world  again; 
Whether  the  ink  be  fire,  blood  or  dew, 
Dip  it  in,  you  and  you! 

Take  up  the  pen, 

Take  off  the  sword, 

Write  it  again 

To  a  last  red  word ; 
Again  and  again,  prick  with  the  pen 
Till  it  stick  into  men. 

Thou  Shalt  not  kill! 

There  is  your  word ! 

Thou  shalt  not  spill 

One  drop  of  his  blood. 
That  brother  of  yours  with  love  of  light, 
With  life  for  his  right. 

Settle  it  now 

Blood  has  been  spilt; 

Let  your  new  vow 

Blaze  up  to  the  hilt: 
Peace  in  the  world,  good  will  to  men! 
Stick  it  in  with  the  pen! 
997 


99^  Sword  and  Pen 

What  is  there  great, 

What  fine  or  brave 

To  topple  your  mate 

To  an  early  grave, 
Running  the  boundary  line  of  states 
By  the  blood  of  your  mates? 

What  shall  ye  say 

Who  snatch  an  hour 

To  spar  for  play 

With  the  thrones  of  power? 
What  shall  ye  answer  the  great  All  Good 
That  have  scattered  his  brood? 

One  whole  life 

For  you  or  me 

Caught  on  a  knife 

In  a  blood-red  sea 
Where  youth  was  slain — and  your  world  plods  on 
With  the  best  of  it  gone ! 

Men  noble  bom 

Struck  from  the  roll, 

Men  that  had  worn 

A  God  in  their  soul — 
Too  bad  their  young  true  hearts  were  spilled, 
That  they  had  to  be  killed! 

Stretch  one  strong  hand 

Out  to  the  pole, 

Gather  in  land. 

Dominion  the  whole — 
More  is  a  breath  of  brotherhood  worth 
Than  your  blood-spattered  earth. 


Sword  and  Pen  999 

Gather  men  in 

To  think  and  do 

As  you,  without  sin, 

To  learn  what  is  true 
By  thinking  your  way — kill  half  of  them  off 
For  labor  of  love ! 

They  that  remain 

Must  take  your  way, 

Speak,  in  the  main, 

Walk  as  you  say; 
And  the  land — let  not  your  good  other  hand 
Overlook  the  sweet  land! 

Kill  half  of  them  off, 

Ye  of  the  blest, 

Slaughter  enough 

To  rescue  the  rest 
From  serving  the  Devil  by  being  free 
To  unyoke  and  to  see. 

The  savage  way, 

A  fierce  first  plan 

Which  tore  its  fray 

In  the  heart  of  Man; 
Will  never  some  kindliness  take  its  place 
To  gentle  a  race? 

Kill  for  Right, 

Then  count  the  Wrong! 

Right  without  Might 

Makes  the  sweet  new  song; 
Kill  for  your  kings — love  will  be  bom 
When  their  kingdoms  are  gone. 


looo  Sword  and  Pen 

Death  to  what  's  true, 
Graves  for  your  love, 
And  what  will  ye  do 
In  the  end  thereof? 

Better  true  and  kind  than  wise  or  great 

In  your  wooing  of  Fate. 

Strike  with  the  pen 

Till  tears  be  shed; 

Plunge  it  again 

Till  your  wrongs  be  dead; 
The  dagger  that  kills  without  a  wound — 
Stick  it  in,  turn  it  'round! 


DE  AMICITIA 

So  you  want  her, 

So  she  wants  you, 
While  I  'm  too  old  to  be  loved,  you  think, 
So  only  one  thing  remains  to  do, 
I  must  give  her  up,  break  the  link 
By  which  I  hang  to  hope, 
Put  her  out  of  my  thought  and  scope, 
Turn  me  to  other  aims  and  ends 
Just  because  I  and  you  are  friends! 

I  am  too  old  to  be  loved,  you  say — 

Yet  am  I  never  too  old  to  love. 

So  out  of  God's  wonderful  Enough 

There  must  be  a  heart  and  day 

For  me — love  will  have  its  way 

Of  going  where  it  is  wanted; 

Love  by  love  is  held  and  haunted 

In  spite  of  your  cheek  of  cream 

And  damask,  or  your  young  puppy-dream. 

Yet  are  you  all  my  friend. 

While  here  am  I  with  my  love  of  you 

To  make  the  best  of  me  in  the  end. 

Do  what  is  noblest  in  me  to  do 

For  love  of  it  and  for  love  of  you, 

'Though  it  split  the  heart  I  have  in  two 


IO02  Dc  Amicitia 

I  keep  for  her — there  's  your  test 
Of  love :  do  your  God-royal  best, 
Kind  Cosmos  do  the  rest. 

So  yester  eve  I  did  this  thing : 

I  took  me  to  our  lady's  bower 

Where  she  toyed  like  a  sapphire  flower 

With  sweet  in  the  end  of  spring ; 

I  begged  her  to  think  of  you, 

I  begged  her  to  let  me  pass 

For  a  strip  of  withered  grass, 

I  old,  while  there  were  you 

In  boy-buttons,  moulded  new, 

Nor  a  thought  that  could  sculpture  losses 
Cheek-deep,  put  crosses 
Over  each  eye  as  if  for  sign 
To  lure  you  to  look  higher 
Than  this  world's  gizzard-desire, 

Seize  upon  power  divine. 
So  I  pleaded  with  her  for  you 

How  you  were  spirit-true, 
Strong  and  new. 

So  I  sang  of  you  while  she  listened. 
While  as  I  begged  her  to  know 
You  were  perfect  while  I  was  not  so, 
There  her  cheek  mantled,  eye  glistened 
So  I  could  see  her  soul  dart  forth 
Like  a  new  star  out  of  the  north 
As  on  I  went  gaining  ground, 
Telling  her  no  man  could  be  found 
Manly  like  you  in  the  world  around, 


De  Amicitia  1003 

As  snug  in  her  bower  she  stood 

Like  a  lapwing  nests  in  a  bunch  of  flowers 

For  courage  to  her  startled  mood 

And  I  grew,  telling  of  your  powers, 

Warmer,  keener,  oh  how  I  sang 

Praises  of  you  till  the  sweet  air  rang 

At  her  ears  for  bell  and  bell 

Till  the  pink  helix  stood  there  to  tell 

Her  whole  soul,  like  an  ocean  shell, 

Her  true  warm  eyes  straight  at  me, 

Each  flutter  as  if  she  would  fly  my  way. 

Her  Beauty  all  a  man  could  see. 

Her  Spring-look  one  whole  year  of  May 

As  on  I  went  to  tell  her  true 

How  you  were  for  her  just,  she  just  for  you. 

What  light  path  and  bright  weather 

Life  makes  for  those  who  love  together. 

How  she  must  not  lose  one  look  of  you, 

For  love  is  not  in  the  world  too  much, 

Love  like  yours — I  told  her  how 
Fortune  favors  young  love's  vow 
Of  heart  to  heart  and  two  souls  in  touch, 
And — now  as  I  talked  I  saw. 
As  I  thought,  how  her  heart  was  longing  for 

You  just,  when  straight  she  came 
To  where  I  stood,  spoke  my  name, 
Her  two  lips  like  a  breath  of  flame, 

Put  her  wide  eyes  to  me 
So  soul-true,  whole  heartfully. 
This  one  thought  flashed  past :  I  knew 
She  was  not  thinking  once  of  you. 


I004  De  Amicitia 

But  of  me — there  she  stood 
Like  the  violet  waiting  to  be  wooed — 
Now  was  there  no  mistaking 
The  old  sign  and  new  waking — 
She  was  mine  there  for  the  taking! 

What  was  for  me  to  do? 
I  had  done  my  best  for  you 
Clean  to  the  bitter  end — 
So  true  to  you  was  I  for  friend 
I  knew  not  another  thought  save  you — 
So  that  way  't  was  I  won  her, 
And  not  a  speckle  on  my  honor — 
Yet  you  have  this  always,  my  friend, 
I  did  my  best  for  you  to  the  end. 


KINGS  AND  QUEENS 

Your  fashion-way  was  one  way 

To  take  him  to  task 

In  under  your  mask — 

I  remember  that  Sunday 

You  gave  pout  to  him  to  ha\x  him  feel 

He  must,  to  capture  you,  come  to  kneel 

For  love  to  your  stubborn  heel. 

Your  one  way  of  rulishness, 

Since  you  had  it  so  in  you 

To  be  master — your  few 

Stop  to  stoop  to  ghoulishness 

Of  the  claw  kind,  their  whole  way  of  love 

Is  lording  it  just  to  perch  above — 

The  vulture  and  not  the  dove. 

Have  a  look  at  it  for  square 

And  the  price  you  pay 

On  a  quarter-day 

For  what  but  to  pin  him  there 

As  a  puffin  will  fork  a  snow-gnat  through, 

That  you  may  have  him  to  monarch  to 

To  bring  him  to  love  of  you. 

Is  the  thing  between  you  this, 
To  see  who  shall  rule 
To  a  gulletful 

Nor  mind  what  you  gain  or  miss? 
1005 


ioo6  Kings  and  Queens 

Look  at  it  once  in  a  sense-head  way, 
This  kingliness,  will  it  one  half  pay 
For  the  love  you  lost  that  day? 

You  took  him  to  be  your  man, 

And  a  man  is  not 

By  the  common  lot 

Less  than  God  made  him,  a  man 

To  govern  you  in  his  soulful  way, 

Since  there  is  the  man  in  him  each  day 

For  mastership  in  his  way. 

But  you  had  your  one  way,  too. 

To  master  by  might 

Of  another  right, 

A  way  which  was  meant  for  you, 

One  way  of  love  and  of  yielding-to. 

Which  would  bring  him  to  his  whole  love  of  you 

To  keep,  if  you  only  knew. 

He  for  master  by  his  plan 

Of  the  outward  show 

Just  to  have  it  so, 

You  for  mistress  to  lead  \our  man 

By  spirit  forces  so  deeplier  set 

That  he  should  follow  and  not  forget, 

Since  love  is  his  master  yet. 

Suppose  you  to  pen  him  close 

Like  a  game-cock  you  clap 

In  a  slatted  trap 

To  bring  his  beak  to  his  toes, 

The  foot  and  fang  of  him  you  will  thwart. 

But  what  about  that  fine  other  part 

You  tried  for,  his  soul  and  heart? 


Kings  and  Queens  1007 

Will  you  pen  them  too,  perchance, 

To  take  to  your  will 

Like  a  daffodil 

You  twitch  from  a  nest  of  plants? 

Will  you  bend  soul  for  a  satin  spray 

To  bow  to  you  of  an  April  day, 

Or  win  it  by  love's  one  way? 

If  you  could  would  you  have  it  so 

To  crush  the  wild  flower 

Of  love  in  an  hour 

For  rulership  so  you  could  know 

You  held  your  man  by  a  ring  in  his  nose, 

An  eye  of  glass  to  not  see  how  he  knows 

A  thorn  from  its  velvet  rose? 

You  had  him  to  love  you  once. 

Yet  3^ou  played  your  part 

By  a  withered  heart, 

The  head  of  a  dimpled  dunce 

To  lose  him  by  just  your  thim1)le  swing 

Of  will  at  him,  you  to  pinch  and  sting 

Like  a  frost-bite  late  in  Spring. 

Not  yield? — is  it  weak  to  yield 

Since  you  drew  him  on 

Like  a  poupeton 

Where  his  love  cried  out  and  kneeled 

To  do  your  least  will,  to  catch  one  nod 

Of  a  wish  he  could  grant  you  above  sod? — 

To  love  is  to  rule  with  God. 

Did  you  not  yield  that  day 
I  could  sec  you  creep 
Up  3'our  hillside  steep 
For  love  of  a  month  of  May 


ioo8  Kings  and  Queens 

To  where  one  yellow-bell  had  begun 
To  duck  to  you  through  a  mottled  sun 
Just  as  your  day  was  done 

That  you  might  stoop  to  it  to  kneel 

To  give  it  a  twist 

At  the  slender  wrist, 

Tuck  it  in  your  breast-band,  feel 

How  the  flower  had  conquered  you — you  knew 

What  gentleness  it  turned  to  you, 

How  it  nodded  and  yielded  too 

To  snug  in  your  inmost  breast 

To  be  borne  about 

For  safe  above  pout, 

Toe-trample,  smite  and  the  rest; 

There  's  love  to  win  when  the  claw  is  down; 

Head  under  if  you  would  wear  a  crown; 

Love  will  be  off  at  your  frown ! 


PHILOSOPHER  AND  PRIEST 

Come,  go  with  me,  friend  and  would-be  saint! 
Stop  thumbing  prayers,  but  come  with  me; 

Let  go  your  flaps, 

Drop  creeds  and  scraps. 
Try  once  to  fancy  how  you  are  free 
While  we  whistle  an  hour  and  a  half 

At  the  wind  and  its  chaff. 

Down  to  the  sea's  old  rub  and  swink — 
Stop  bending  thought,  heaven  is  wide; 

Stand  straight  as  a  God 

By  the  gaping  sod! 
To  the  beach,  let  us  follow  the  tide 
And  crooning  wail  of  the  sea 

As  you  listen  to  me ! 

How  you  shuffle  to  slink  by  the  way 
Two  to  three  lengths  of  a  thought  behind! 

What  is  to  fear? 

God  made  you  a  peer; 
Step  front,  full  of  breast  and  mind ! 
Whip  into  line  straight  as  a  thread. 

Step  wholly  ahead! 

Scoop  a  handful  of  sand  at  your  feet ! 

The  sea  has  clinched  with  a  dog-tooth  shore 

Till  mountains  are  dust 

At  whims  of  a  gust. 
Or  drool  to  cobble  an  ocean's  floor; 
64  1009 


loio  Philosopher  and  Priest 

While  just  there  in  the  palm  of  your  hand 
Is  a  grape-growing  land. 

Eery  wave  churns  flint  into  wine! 

Quit  pinching  sand,  there  's  nothing  there! 
Look  up  and  about, 
Truth  's  caught  by  a  doubt! 

Let  's  be  looking  for  love  and  a  care; 

Not  half  of  an  atom  of  space 

Is  dropped  out  of  the  race. 

Were  you  thinking  truth  stood  still, 
That  tenets  of  dogma,  creed, 

Make  first  or  last 

Of  all  that  is  cast 
In  souls  of  an  infinite  need? 
Sooner  think,  for  sooner  the  sand 

Will  snatch  truth  from  your  hand. 

From  rock  to  wine,  from  wine  to  blood, 
From  burning  blood  to  burning  soul. 

And  the  thought  comes  quick 

'T  is  an  infinite  trick, 
These  heavens  but  an  edge  of  the  scroll, 
Your  sight  but  the  gaze  of  the  dead 

At  worlds  overhead. 

One  touch  of  knowledge  no  heart  could  bear; 
Ye  cannot  know,  ye  would  not  know, 

Save  soul  is  there 

In  the  outer  air 
Where  seasons  neither  come  nor  go, 
Nor  any  sky  nor  thing  I  see 

Greater  than  the  soul  in  thee. 


Philosopher  and  Priest  ion 

By  stooping  low,  by  mouthing  mocks 
Will  ye  breathe  as  the  wings  of  a  dove? 

The  lounge  of  a  sphinx, 

Lunge  of  a  lynx 
Strike  nearer  home  in  the  heart  of  love; 
Strip  an  air  from  the  soul  of  your  wren 

As  he  rises  again ! 

Mark  you  yonder  pretty-hearted  child 
Prattling,  spattling  at  coddled  sand! 

Of  such,  am  I  told, 

Of  such  is  the  fold 
In  a  kingdom  of  some  kinglier  land ; 
She  will  not  lift  an  eye  nor  lower  a  knee, 

But  breathes  divinity. 

Stay  here  to  watch  her  a  while! 

One  small  white  grave  she  digs  in  the  sand — 

But  she  may  not  know 

What  the  grave  is,  so 
She  keeps  on  digging,  song  in  hand; 
One  more  thrust  of  the  surf  will  lave 

Her  white  heart  in  its  grave. 

Will  you  call  her  back,  tell  her  good 
Or  evil ;  show  her  sham  or  shame ; 

Or  a  world  impart 

To  such  sweet  young  heart 
To  see  it  wilt  between  frost  and  flame? 
Or  leave  her  there  to  an  ocean's  sod 

And  the  welcome  of  God? 

How  close  behind  her  that  last  sea  struck ! 
She  never  hears  one  savage  blow; 


IOI2  Philosopher  and  Priest 

Will  you  leave  her  there 

To  the  endless  care 
Of  waves  weighed  down  by  breast  of  snow, 
Or  snatch  her  away  to  let  her  learn 

Souls  both  freeze  and  burn? 

To  clapping  of  hands  in  the  sand 
Do  you  think  she  would  ever  return, 

Or  once  retrace 

Step  or  grace 
Of  childhood's  kingdom  of  unconcern? 
Or  wander  once  back  within  reach 

Of  shouts  of  the  beach? 

One  short  step  now  and  Heaven  is  hers ; 
Will  you  hold  her  here  where  tenets  die? 

Would  it  seem  to  you 

There  could  be  two 
Diverging  paths  to  a  single  sky? 
Her  perfect  heart — while  what  will  you  do 

Now  choice  is  with  you? 

Afraid  there  might  be  a  mistake? 
What  you  think  right  may  be  wrong? 

Is  wrong,  then,  flower 

Of  infinite  power, 
Short  words  to  an  endless  song? 
Tear  the  soul  from  a  note  of  your  wren 

As  he  carols  again ! 

Is  such  question  too  long  for  thought? 
Will  reason  not  fathom  it  out? 

Yet  you  shall  decide 

Ere  a  sweep  of  the  tide 
Take  her  off  where  there  's  neither  faith  nor  doubt. 


Philosopher  and  Priest  1013 

Slow  truth  speak  quick  ere  the  small  pink  hand 
Reach  for  God  in  the  sand ! 

Tap  your  Nicene  knowledge  again, 
Faith  of  the  fathers,  lore  on  lore. 

Yet  ye  shall  not  know 

If  to  stay  or  go 
Be  not  all  the  same  on  the  farther  shore. 
Little  I  see,  whatnot  or  whatso. 

While  nothing  I  know. 

Fine  faith,  too,  will  give  you  the  slip, 
Since  faith  soars  higher  than  level  thought; 

Is  there  no  way  out 

Of  your  cloud  of  doubt, 
Nor  sharper  trap  by  which  truth  is  caught? 
Look  again  once  how  her  small  blind  hands 

Make  love  to  the  sands! 

Not  by  knowing;  not,  too,  by  faith; 
Drop  an  ear  to  strokes  of  the  heart 

Ringing  out  chime 

Through  fire  and  rime 
And  not  heard  above  knowledge,  gold  and  art; 
Think  once  of  the  waste  and  blame  of  it ! 

Oh,  think  of  the  shame  of  it! 

Get  truth,  then,  straight  as  it  is: 

A  child's  new  laugh  rings  out  on  the  beach, 

While  not  at  the  nod 

Of  command  from  a  God 
Would  you  let  it  die  out  of  your  reach ; 
Thumb  creed,  thunder  God  as  you  will. 

Love  is  sovereign  still! 


IOT4  Philosopher  and  Priest 

Look  how  the  tide  now  turns  away 
To  leave  her  there  to  clasping  sun ! 

Is  it  wonder,  then, 

The  hearts  of  men 
Should  find  their  labor  of  love  well  done? 
Take  her  up,  clasp  her  close,  for  right  there 

Is  your  "love  and  a  care." 

All  stars  are  double;  world  to  world 
The  clinging  atoms  know  their  places; 

Not  the  smallest  grain 

Of  such  vast  domain 
But  seeks  a  mate  out  of  conscious  spaces ; 
How  her  soul's  eyes  look  you  through  and  through, 

And  the  image  of  you! 

She  will  draw  you  back  to  your  heart  again, 
Lead  you  out  into  spirit-land; 

Hold  her  fast  for  dear 

Since  an  end  is  near. 
You  '11  go  together,  hand  in  hand! 
In  earth  below,  in  worlds  above. 

What  is  life  without  love? 


KNOW  THY  MATE 

Three  men  sat  at  their  after-dinner: 
"I  am  your  professional  sinner," 

Said  one,  "and  no  new-born  beginner!" 
Look  twice,  just  to  take  notice  of  that 

For  clean  confession  worth  looking  at ! 

"You  may  put  me  down  for  another. 
Your  Sir  Rank  professional  brother 

To  the  toe-end,  to  puff  or  smother," 

Said  the  second,  as  he  spit  one  stripe 

Of  blue  smut  from  his  orange  pipe. 

"I  'm  worth  counting,  by  Heaven  above. 
So  count  me  out  of  your  demon  love! 

This  world's  red-handed  rough  enough 

For  my  taste,"  spoke  the  third,  now  he  took 

His  side-seat  and  flabbergasted  look. 

Dined  they  together — and  they  had  dined! 

Priest  never  better  dined  and  wined 
Or  felt  his  hide  so  supremely  lined 

Of  mud-shad  in  red  radish  sauce, 
Enough  to  stuff  a  dozen  craws! 

Number  One 

Your  life,  and  what  is  it  after  all 

But  tapers  down  to  the  small  end  small. 
One  certain  spread  of  one  curtain-pall? 
1015 


ioi6  Know  Thy  Mate 

Or  what  will  you  more  in  your  term 
Than  fetch  a  twist  of  the  trodden  worm? 

Number  Two 

So  I  say  too — truth  in  that  thinking! 

Little  use  of  honest  swinking! 
Comes  not  life  of  eating  and  drinking? 

So  shall  it  end  when  that  ends  too, 
Sure  as  belly  's  the  best  of  you! 

Number  One 

To  the  drinks,  then,  that  never  we  boast 
Of  virtue,  of  our  surviving  ghost! 

King  be  the  man  who  shall  clutch  the  most! 
High  wine  for  a  warming  to  start 

The  bloodhound  in  this  red-hot  heart! 

Number  Two 

Here  's  to  the  woman  one  man  holds  true! 

She  's  mine,  if  I  can  get  her,  too, 
To  show  how  great  I  can  be  and  do. 

And  odds  to  you  there  in  the  corner — 
You  shall  play  lap-dog  and  first  mourner! 

Number  One 

Good  enough  that  for  a  lord  to  say! 

Am  I  not  moulded  to  have  my  day 
And  there  's  the  dog  in  me  to  pay? 

Whichever  way  you  probe  to  know, 
Put  peg  in  here :  God  made  it  so ! 

Number  Two 

Right  again,  pal,  so  now  for  a  pull! 
Drown  my  glass  to  the  nozzle  full 


Know  Thy  Mate  1017 

For  health  to  our  corner  puff-ball  fool 

Of  high  mind — a  health  to  him  now, 
Him  of  the  ethical  temple-brow ! 

Number  Three 

But  slowly  to  what  you  are  training  for ! 

"Give  and  take"  governs  for  common  law, 
So  coward  he  who  shall  yelp  or  yaw ! 

He  who  gives,  he  too  shall  take, . 
Just  for  pleasant  manner's  sake! 

Number  Two 

That  time  for  once  and  you  hit  it  right ! 

No  cowards  we,  afraid  of  light, 
But  we  give  and  take,  we  friend  or  fight, 

And  not  a  nerve  of  us  to  flinch 
Once  we  feel  our  own  brogans  pinch! 

Number  One 

Drink  to  her  picture,  for  here  it  is! 

The  woman  I  was  not  born  to  miss, 
Who  gives  me  her  best  bottled-up  kiss! 

Her  picture!  Mark  the  starbeam  there 
Tucked  in  her  forest  of  citron  hair! 

One  look  from  me  and  she  came  my  way 
As  my  pet  bird  will,  to  show  how  gay 

She  could  perch  and  coo  when  once  astray 
To  flutter  in  my  columbine — 

I  touched  her  wing  and  she  was  mine! 

Number  Two 

Scoundrel !  The  picture  there  's  my  wife ! 

Now,  by  Heaven,  we  come  to  the  knife, 


ioi8  Know  Thy  Mate 

And  you  pay  back  by  your  vulture-life! 

To  arms,  and  we  fight  it  out  here, 
As  hell  is  black  and  this  life  is  dear! 

Number  Three 

Not  so  fast!  You  are  not  beginners, 

But  hide-bound  old  ])rofcssional  sinners, 

The  catch-all  tribe  of  women-winners. 
So  why  such  ado  about  this, 

Only  one  blundrous  slip  amiss? 

Number  Four 
(Wife) 

Well  said,  as  next  to  your  booth  I  heard 

How  your  honor  was  piqued  and  stirred, 

So  many  fangs  to  one  small  word, 
And  only  a  wife  to  tell 

How  you  lighted  her  way  to  hell ! 

My  lover  was  never  you, 

But  he  is  there  in  the  next  booth  too, 
His  broken  heart  in  his  drunken  stew! 

As  for  your  soul,  do  not  unearth  it, 
For  truth  is  this  truth — I  am  not  worth  it! 


BLOODHOUNDS  OF  THE  CZAR 

This  was  the  Czar  of  Russia, 

His  country  to  rule  or  crush  her — 
What  say  you,  or  what  say  I 
Now  a  king 
Knows  the  right  and  wrong  of  a  thing, 
If  a  man  shall  live,  if  a  man  shall  die? — 
Is  there  not  Rome  or  Prussia 
To  example  a  way 
Of  Power-play? — 
Enough  for  the  Czar  of  Russia! 

People  are  dogs  one  way, 

So  he  thought; 
They  love  to  be  schooled, 
To  be  rod-ruled 
So  their  hides  and  heels  may  be  taught 
As  well  as  their  souls  to  obey 
One  king  alone. 
One  whip-cord  throne — 
Now  for  how  he  did  it 
By  quirk  and  quiddit! 

You  know  a  people  could  never  be 

Greater  than  their  king,  His  Majesty, 
Could  not  be  freer  than  he  was. 
Be  more  liberal  to  a  cause, 
'T  would  never  do. 
Or  he  must  chop  their  loftiness  in  two — 
1019 


I020  Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar 

Did  they  not  take  him  for  king 
To  give  them  laws? 
Could  they  once  ever  take  to  wing 
For  nobler  cause, 
For  wider  swing? 

Mark  how  a  king  is  slave 
Just  so  much  as  his  people  is, 

Like  I  am  handcuffed  to  a  knave 
To  hold  him  so  I  may  not  miss 

My  prisoner — there  am  I 
Prisoner  too,  and  sigh  for  sigh 

To  go  his  way,  take  his  twitch, 
Join  him  in  each  jump  and  hitch — 

With  him  I  learn  to  flinch. 
Without  him  I  may  not  budge  an  inch! 

Finland  was  one  happy  pappy  land, 
The  people  were  alive 
As  hornets  in  a  hive 
To  understand 
What  a  thing  it  is  to  be 

Unkingdomed,  wholly  free 
To  do  the  thing  a  man  is  born  to  do 

And  not  a  check  from  church  or  state  or  you, 
To  sing  and  soar  and  think 
And  no  master,  not  a  wink. 

It  came  to  pass  one  early  summer  day. 

Now  school  was  out,  children  were  at  play, 

Came  pretty  Princess  Belle  Anne  to  her  task 
To  teach — she  had  torn  away  the  mask 

To  do  and  be  her  noblemost  she  was. 

So  came  to  teach  the  children  to  be  free, 


Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar  102 1 

To  strike  against  a  monarchy  of  laws, 

To  shout  the  highest  human  cause 
Men  think  of  or  ever  was, 

One  noble  Independency. 

She  taught  them  to  be  men  outright, 

To  make  their  way 
To  think  each  thought  out  day  and  day, 

How  the  only  king  in  the  world  is  Right — 
Taught  them  not  to  pray,  but  to  do 

The  thing  a  man  should  be  manful  at 
For  fear  of  neither  God  nor  you 

And  to  keep  their  whole  heart  fast  to  that — 
Quick  to  love,  quick  to  hate 
Power  which  strikes  to  dominate. 

One  day  the  sun  was  streaming. 

New  clouds  were  teeming 
With  new  eyes,  lips,  cheeks. 
One  look  by  which  the  whole  heaven  speaks — 
School  was  out. 
One  heard  the  blue  round  air 
Ring  for  happy-hearted  shout, 
Wishfulness  was  everywhere 
In  tree-bird,  bee-bower, 
Copple-crown  flower. 

Our  Princess  now  took  her  way 

To  one  fountain  in  the  woods 
To  watch  the  sun-bubbles  play 
Like  puckles  in  silver  hoods 

As  there  she  stood  to  think, 
By  the  fountain-brink. 
How  each  tiny  water-drop  is  free 
To  break  the  chain  which  binds  it  to  the  sea, 


I02  2  Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar 

To  leap  sky-ways,  spread  each  wing 
Which  lakes  its  own  shape  and  coloring 

Of  iris  or  plain  white, 
Such  elegance  and  such  free  leap. 

Who  knows  but  a  thousand  eyes  for  sight 
And  soul  to  puncture  the  deep, 

Poise  in  mid-most  air,  like  soul. 
Then  drop  to  float  about  the  whole 

Slave  race  of  waters,  large  and  by. 
Then  the  one  little  peaceful  sigh 

Where  it  breaks  in  two,  joins  the  sky 

Sudden,  as  there  she  thought 
If  life  counts  great,  counts  not. 

Watched  one  oquassa  leap 
To  pluck  a  bubble  in  its  sleep. 

There  by  just  an  edge  of  the  wood 
One  superbest  man-shape  stood — 

What  for  the  straight  strong  eye 
To  look  one  way  nor  question  why. 

One  topmost  sky-round  brow 
To  plan  kingdomy  and  know  how 

To  make  his  mark  as  good  as  his  vow, 

You  never  saw  another 
Such  masterful  mastiff-brother — 

And,  very  truth,  such  was  his  forte, 
The  King's  prime  favorite  at  court. 

His  bloodhound,  for  such  he  was 
To  Machiavellize  new  cause 

For  iron-hearted  laws. 

Force-foremost,  anything 
To  make  him  master  and  real  king. 


Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar  1023 

All  in  him  went  to  convince — 

His  stalwartage,  each  action, 
That  composed  self-satisfaction 

We  see  in  the  Bloodhound-Prince — 

What  for  now 
And  he  dropped  her  his  princely  bow, 

Begun  to  speak, 
The  powerful  against  the  weak, 

And  she 
Heart-bound  by  his  supremacy 

Of  kind  courage,  trappy  care 

Which  took  her  captive  there! 
By  an  edge  of  the  fountain 

With  its  water-mountain 
Stood  he  handsome-straight, 

A  pillar  of  state. 
Nor  knew  her,  who  she  might  be, 

Save  for  the  stamp  of  royalty 
Put  plainly  there 
In  her  sweet  stateliness  and  Princess-air. 

Nor  knew  she  who  he  was. 

Magistrate  or  master  of  laws, 
But  just  such  ideal  kind 

Of  man  she  took  to  mind 
In  her  young  day  when  youth  dreams 

And  life  is  only  what  it  seems. 
The  two  of  them  were  drawn  together 

Under  the  branches  which  seemed  high 
As  heaven,  Hke  mating  of  earth  and  sky, 

Nor  asked  they  why  or  whether. 

Oh,  it  was  love, 

.  Nought  less,  nothing  above — 


I024  Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar 

Was  not  that  enough 
That  they  were  so  plainly  made 

Each  for  the  other  as  tree  and  glade? 
It  was  love  and  he  said  it, 

And  she  was  there  to  dread  it 
And  love  too,  as  well  he  knew 

How  to  break  her  will  in  two. 
To  hold  her  raptured  and  fastened  too. 

Right  at  the  nook  of  a  cranny-neb 

Stood  she  watching  one  spider-web 
The  fountain  sprayed  with  dew 
Till  a  thousand  eyes  of  greenish  blue 

Raptured  and  fastened  her  too — 
Straight  she  looked,  yet  never  saw 
Snare  in  it  or  cunning  paw 

Or  what  such  eyes  were  looking  for, 
Never  once  thought  of  it  nor  spied 

The  trick  of  the  spider  snug  inside ! 

So  too  into  his  eyes  she  looked 

Where  the  destinies  of  men  were  booked, 
Far-reaching  eyes,  as  if  they  were  given 

To  pick  the  lock  of  Heaven — 
Into  his  eyes — love  was  there 

For  good  and  fair — 

The  great  man  strong  and  weak, 
She  all  power  over  him  to  see 

How  spirit  flew  to  his  lips,  and  he 
No  power  to  speak. 

"Ha!  I  'm  the  Princess  Belle  Anne  you  see! 

Many  a  man  would  capture  me, 
For  I  hate  the  Czar,  I  teach  the  young 

To  stay  their  hand,  to  loose  their  tongue 


Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar  1025 

For  freedom — always  I  said 

'Never  a  drop  of  blood  be  shed' — 

Always  I  said  Law  intended 

Love  and  Justice  should  be  blended — 

Yet  look  you  out  wide  and  far 

You  '11  not  find  one  so  hates  the  Czar." 

"God,  is  it  so?" — the  strong  man  weak 

Now  found  forty  lips  to  speak: 
"Save  thyself! — this  day  I  gave 

Command  that  whoso  taught 
Ruction  or  blasphemous  treason-thought 

Finds  pitfall  in  a.  grave ! 
Look  to  yourself — the  sweet  air 

Spits  poison,  subtle  death 
Lurks  in  each  lilac-breath 

For  none  to  spare ! " 

"Not  so,"  she  answered,  now  she  saw 

The  man  in  him  of  power  and  law 
To  prop  a  kingdom,  hang  his  star 

Higher  and  brighter  than  the  Czar — 
"Not  so,  but  look  you  to  you 

To  save  yourself — your  liberty 
Is  forfeit  if  harm  come  to  me — 

Look  you,  too,  how  I  can  save 
Finland  and  you 
From  one  dungeon-grave! 

"Finland,  my  happy  land,  people  brave, 
And  there  you  made  it  into  a  grave 

Of  loud  heart  and  freedom 

To  build  your  throne  by  force-decreedom ! 

65 


1026  Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar 

Yet  is  the  fault  not  yours — you  were  trained 

To  mastership  by  small  ways, 
To  keep  in  mind  your  king  always, 

Your  people  to  beguile 
By  sops,  by  pearls  of  smile, 

You  underhearted,  overbrained. 

"Yet  will  I  save 
Finland  and  you  from  one  dungeon-grave" — 

Right  as  she  spoke 
Gendarmes  through  the  forest  broke 

To  take  her — there  before  his  eyes. 
My  lord-minister,  she  was  seized, 

To  his  furious  surprise. 
King's  prisoner  now  in  spite 

Of  my  lord's  ministerial  might, 
Whether  he  was  pained  or  pleased. 

Next  day  in  the  market-place 

The  people  came — 
One  would  think  a  whole  human  race 

Was  there  to  claim 
Right  of  sovereignty,  for  so  it  was, 

They  were  there  for  one  human  cause, 

A  free  thought,  free  part. 

Free  play  for  head  and  heart — 
Their  Goddess  was  Princess  Belle  Anne,  who  said: 
"Never  a  drop  of  blood  be  shed!" — 

And  she  in  prison — so 
They  voted  to  seize  their  man 

Of  power  behind  the  throne — 
Nor  sooner  said  than  done,  for  lo. 

Our  minister  meantime  was  grown 
Impatient  to  see  and  know 


Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar  1027 

What  meant  such  thousands  in  one  place, 
So  marched  to  the  front  to  show  his  face 

When,  lo,  they  seized  him — he  too  was  sent 
Into  the  Uke  imprisonment. 

Loved  and  lover  in  one  jaw, 

One  for  making,  one  for  breaking  law — 
Yet  stranger  yet  to  tell, 

Side  by  side,  cell  to  cell 
They  were  put  prisoners  by  chance 

And  none  knew  such  curious  circumstance 
Save  themselves — they  knew, 

So  kept  the  secret  between  them  two 
To  talk  the  night  out — each  saw 

How  the  other  loved  above  kings  and  law — 

How  love  is  an  only  mistress  to  rule, 

Royallest  government,  highest  school — 
There  he  said: 
"Never  I  knew  how  the  people  are 

Genuine  bloodhounds  of  the  Czar, 
How,  too,  so  easily  they  are  led  ^ 

If  you  hold  them  in  check 
By  smile  and  beck  .' 

Of  your  single  sentence  so  kindly  said : 
Never  a  drop  of  blood  be  shed!" 

"To-morrow,"  she  answered,  "you  shall  see 

How  my  people  love  and  do  for  me — 
They  shall  love  and  do  for  you  too 

If  you  bear  them  love,  treat  them  true — 
For  now  at  a  word  from  me 

Mark  you  they  will  set  me  free — 
At  another  word  they  will  turn  to. 

Burst  your  bars,  free  you  too 


I028  Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar 

On  my  word  for  it  you  arc  to  be 
Their  first  friend  eternally. 

"Trained arc  you  in  your  school  of  head — 

Friend,  this  world  has  another  part, 

One  truth  all  too  lightly  said : 
Everything  most  is  thought, 

Everything  is  taught  and  wrought 
Save  only  this  human  heart, 

Yet  is  there  no  power  in  sight 
Which  has  its  compass-range  for  might 

Of  conquest  to  rule  so  fully. 
To  hold  men  so  trued  and  truly. " 

Now  the  voices  of  the  two  are  still — 

How  heart  reaches  to  heart  and  calls 
Through  iron-fisted  walls ! — 

Outside  sang  the  whippoorwill, 

Sun  poked  in  through  the  bars. 

Love  was  there  at  the  morning  hour, 

Not  once  imprisoned,  scorning  power 

And  the  threat  of  a  thousand  Czars — 
My  lord-minister  knew  he  saw 

Love  makes  first  and  final  law, 

For  just  that  morning  the  people  came, 

Broke  her  chain,  set  her  free, 
So  now  she  spoke  like  a  breath  of  flame : 

"The  man,  your  prisoner,  is  my  man  there, 
He  is  life  and  heart  and  soul  of  me — 

Break  you  his  bonds  nor  spare 
A  breath  of  you  till  you  set  him  free — 

On  this  you  may  depend, 
He  is  to  be  your  foremost  friend 
On  to  the  onward  end!" 


Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar  1029 

An  instant  more  and  there  he  stood 

In  the  midst  of  one  trusting  multitude, 
Her  arms  'round  him — you  know  how 
A  woman  seals  her  mighty  vow 
Of  her  mighty  heart, 
Her  host  of  Heaven,  eyes  so  wide  and  true. 
As  if  the  soul  of  her  would  depart 

To  come  and  dwell  in  you — 
There  my  strong  man  stern 
Bent  him  to  give  her  his  love  in  turn 

Till  the  people,  to  girl  and  boy, 

Broke  wild  in  their  leap  of  joy 
That  they  should  now  have  a  friend  at  court 

Just  by  the  gentle  Belle  Anne's  forte 
Of  love — wrong  was  to  righten, 

Greatness  to  grow,  burden  to  lighten — 
What  for  a  king  is  love 

To  rule  so  we  're  never  ruled  enough, 
For  see  how  Finland  has  prospered  since 

And  never  the  chop-lick  of  a  Prince! 


DEATH 


How  beautiful  a  thing  is  death 

With  its  other  breath, 
Soul's  opportunity  for  being 

Beyond  light,  beyond  seeing, 
To  have  without  showing, 

To  go  without  knowing 
Which  way  or  whereto. 

To  summon  the  whole  heart  of  you 
To  greatness,  put  to  test 

Your  ground-grit  and  very  best! 
Like  a  storm  to  overwhelm, 

How  it  puts  you  to  the  helm ! 
As  in  life,  so  in  death 

Leastly  counts  the  flying  breath. 
Mostly  counts  the  man, 

What  he  is,  what  he  can — 
By  the  power  he  overthrows. 

By  that  much  he  gains  and  grows — 
So  take  this  look  at  death. 

Anyone  who  reasoneth, 
To  see  in  it  a  power 

Tries  to  match  a  man  each  hour — 
Something  to  overcome 

Gives  him  speech,  strikes  him  dumb, 
1030 


Death  1031 

Rounds  him  up  to  hit  or  miss, 

Lets  him  find  out  what  he  is 
So  that  he  may  not  flee  it, 

But  keep  his  clinch  to  be  it! 
Each  man  so  shall  have  his  chance 

To  outweather  circumstance 
Just  by  force  of  what  he  is. 

Since  nothing  was  made  to  miss 
For  one  who  shall  keep  his  way 

Of  masterhood,  make  his  day 
Of  value,  do  what  he  can 

As  heartful  and  mostful  man 
By  way  of  Beautiful  Right 

For  love  of  it,  keep  no  Heaven  in  sight, 
He  his  own  integral  might 

Of  self-sublimest  man 
On  some  supersolar  plan. 

Beyond  penalties,  beyond  rewards, 
To  conquer  untoward  odds, 

He  a  whole  God  among  the  Gods. 

What  is  there  a  man  may  bring 

His  life  to  to  make  him  king 
But  counter-blows  to  draw  1 

His  sparks,  plant  his  meteor 
Above  what  he  sees  around 

In  grub-work  or  lap-dog  ground? 
Death  comes — did  you  chance  to  think 

Nothing  is  over  the  brink? 
But  look  how  death  is  enough 

To  force  you  to  look  above 
Griff-life,  stomach-dower, 

Each  little  wanton  hour! 
There  's  the  supremest  power 


1032  Death 

And  providence  of  death 
To  show  how  nothing  is  in  a  breath, 

How  everything  is  in  soul 
Bent  on  being  the  rounded  whole! 

II 

She  laid  her  down  to  die 

Of  an  evening-morning, 
Before  Aurora  could  warn  the  sky 

Of  any  dawning; 
Beautiful  my  garden-flower-girl  was; 

Harken  to  what  she  said, 
Stop  a  moment  just  because 

Such  another  moment  and  she  was  dead. 

Dew-light  was  on  the  grass 

Of  her  pasture-lawn. 
Where  yesterday  just  I  saw  her  pass 

And  turn  to  look  upon 
Each  fly-leaf  and  dandelion  breast, 

Then  on  her  mill-bank  brook. 
Her  flock  of  wrens  and  all  the  rest, 

As  if  she  knew  it  was  her  last  look. 

About  her  house  and  mill 

Quiet  was,  night-sweet  too; 
The  moon  leaned  in  at  her  windowsill, 

It  was  dying  too 
As  there  she  turned  her  sweet  face  aside, 

One  look  more,  her  best  and  last, 
And  so  she  blossomed  and  died 

Like  the  flower  she  was,  and  her  life  was  past. 

We  saw  her  eyes  were  set, 

Saw,  too,  the  moonbeams  came 


Death  1033 

To  nest  in  them  as  if  to  beget 

Sight  like  a  leap  of  flame 
To  look  beyond  what  the  others  see 

To  what  is  true  and  fair, 
More  than  mere  humanity, 

More  than  the  life  of  worlds  out  there. 

Such  was  her  simple  life 

She  never  knew  a  way 
But  honest  thought,  wholesomest  strife 

Her  day  after  day 
To  do  her  best  her  whole  heart  could 

Nor  ever  complain, 
Lived  for  just  her  love  of  good. 

Nor  came  once  a  thought  of  the  after-gain. 

Just  a  little  flower-girl 

As  you  oftenest  see; 
'Round  her  temples  danced  lock  and  curl 

In  jubilee, 
As  straight  to  her  cheek  her  heart  would  rush 

Like  jumping  to  tell 
How  sky  too,  by  one  morning  blush, 

Proves  you  all  heaven  is  all  heart  as  well. 

Her  life  she  gave  to  do 

What  most  she  could  her  way 
To  make  the  noblest  of  what  she  knew 

Each  day  upon  day. 
Her  little  cares  to  make  mightiest  thought, 

Her  task  to  be  done 
If  it  profited  her  or  not, 

And  what  is  there  soulfuller  under  the  sun? 


I034  Death 

Each  day  I  saw  her  take 

Armfuls  of  flowers  to  town 
For  love  of  them,  not  for  the  pittance'  sake 

Of  her  half  crown 
To  keep  life  up,  for  there  was  her  love 

Of  Beauty,  like  a  bee 
Will  hover  about  and  above 

His  flower  for  only  the  blush  to  see. 

Not  for  hunger  and  thirst 

Was  a  part  of  an  hour 
But  they  came  last,  Beauty  stood  first 

For  perfectest  power. 
Nor  storm  could  whistle  to  pipe  a  threat 

Should  put  her  aside, 
Never  whimper  nor  regret. 

As  so  she  turned  to  her  moon  and  died; 

Died  the  way  of  the  great, 

Proof-pointed  against  Power 
To  put  the  soul  out  of  reach  or  date. 

Her  poise  of  a  flower 
To  kiss  the  storm  just  to  pocket  sweet 

Nor  be  blown  aside, 
Never  knew  a  moment's  defeat 

As  there  she  turned  to  her  moon  and  died. 


NOT  SO  QUICK! 


Slowly,  my  son — 't  is  a  trick  of  truth 

Half  times  to  play  one  pretty  trick  with  youth 

As  it  flutters  by, 
Half  to  find  what  love  is  all  about. 
More  to  watch  a  peach-lipped  maiden  pout 
Now  she  knows  you  heard  her  sigh. 

I  saw  you,  you  sly  one,  last  night  late 
Stuffed  in  between  a  girl's  cape  and  the  gate 

To  bolt  out  the  moon. 
As  if  you  feared,  in  your  next  embrace, 
Sky  would  peek  in  to  find  her  face 
Like  an  evening's  cheek  in  June. 

Leaning  out  over  my  window-ledge 
I  saw  you  lift  just  a  hand  to  pledge 

Her  your  finest  word. 
When  I  tapped  the  sill — my  moon  was  there 
To  stalk  about  with  a  careless  air — 
You  stopped  where  you  thought  you  heard 

What  might  have  been  spirit-raps  laid  light 
To  warn  you  to  keep  an  eye  on  night 

At  her  clever  tricks 
To  cover  faults  by  a  piece  of  veil, 
Or  turn  dark  soul-spots  into  pale 
As  moon  in  her  silver  flix. 
1035 


1036  Not  So  Quick 

For  by  what  she  said — I  know  her  way — 

You  thought  you  could  trust  to  her  dimple-play, 

To  her  feather's  breath; 
By  what  she  said !  What  a  foolish  thing ! 
Trust  a  lark  to  creep,  a  snail  to  sing! 
Trust  the  lockjaw  jibe  of  death ! 

For  down  my  lane  just  the  night  before. 
Where  a  bush  invites  with  an  open  door, 

Where  grasses  watch, 
I  passed,  while  all  by  one  ticklish  hap 
I  heard  her  whine  at  her  lover's  lap 
Close  in  by  the  Knuckle  Notch. 

My  moon  was  about,  my  true  new  moon 
Which  keeps  one  place,  like  a  lazy  tune, 

So  I  could  see  plain 
Her  cheek  made  snug  to  another's  cheek, 
Could  catch  her  sigh,  could  hear  her  speak 
Her  love  again  and  again. 

And  then,  "He  's  young,  this  Osmond"  she  said, 
"A  trifle  soft-clinkered  about  the  head 

As  well  as  heart; 
But  gold  he  has  to  an  overplus. 
The  thing  we  need  and  enough  for  us; 
Trust  me  to  perform  my  part. 

"He  '11  wed  me — I  have  him  all  and  fast; 
He  '11  knuckle  to  duck  to  my  will  from  last 

Up  to  first,  you  '11  see ; 
I  '11  wed  him  because  you  wish  it  so. 
One  more  hard  way  just  to  make  you  know 
He  counts  only  gold  to  me. 


Not  So  Quick  1037 

"So  shall  you  rule  him  and  not  be  seen; 
But  a  word  from  you  behind  your  screen 

And  he  shall  obey; 
His  gold  for  you  and  his  soul  for  you; 
To  teach  you  how  I  can  love  and  be  true, 
You  shall  dance  while  he  shall  pay. 

"He  shall  throw  back  nor  if  nor  but, 
My  green  moth  at  his  honey-gut 

And  lost  in  the  game! 
You  shall  put  candle  to  his  nose, 
Your  spider's  fleece  about  his  toes, 
Strip  his  wings  in  the  flame." 

II 

Listen  to  my  story  of  the  bull ! 

White  May  was  at  hand,  the  fens  were  full 

Of  young  cedar-scent; 
Swamp-apples  tossed  to  and  fro 
To  try  to  jingle,  like  bells  of  snow; 
The  promise  of  June  was  well  meant. 

At  Woodstock  it  was — I  launched  out  there 
For  my  zig-zag  trip  in  one  morning  air 

Of  a  valley's  jaws; 
Soul  could  be  seen  where  clouds  were  bled, 
God  could  be  heard  now  the  lip  was  red 
With  pledges  of  songs  in  haws. 

Steep  stood  the  slant  as  slant  could  be 
Now  I  mounted  on  the  sunny  side 

Of  a  ledge's  face 
Which  put  gray  eyes  where  my  sky  was  set 
Like  a  blue  cap  drawn  on  the  mountain  jet. 
But  much  too  large  for  the  place, 


I038  Not  So  Quick 

When  sudden,  now  as  I  looked  aloft, 
One  black  bull  stepped  to  the  upper  toft 

For  his  drink  of  wind — 
Two  troubled  horns  dropped  over  his  head — 
A  hearse  with  two  white  plumes  for  the  dead, 
Thought  I — there  he  snarled  and  grinned ! 

All  nostril  out  to  the  rim  was  spread 
To  an  inside  dark  with  the  entrance  red, 

Like  a  sun-spot's  pit; 
Wild  eyes  to  fathom  I  was  there. 
Yet  shot  out  sideways  for  maddened  glare 
Like  lights  at  a  beacon's  spit, 

As  if  he  rather  would  not  half  see 
What  slaughter  he  meant  to  make  of  me 

For  passing  whim, 
While  I  squared  back,  one  jaw  put  firm, 
Which  left  my  inside  soul  to  squirm 
As  I  held  to  my  ground  for  him. 

As  rifted  cloud  before  bursting  suns 

His  nostrils  broke  fire,  two  belching  guns 

From  a  turret's  nose; 
Plunging  his  horns  hard  into  the  ground, 
One  kick  at  the  wind,  one  sidelong  bound. 
His  big  bulk  fell  and  rose, 

Then  lunged  at  me  down  the  hill-steep  straight 
Like  an  avalanche,  full  of  hell  and  hate 

And  an  arrow's  flight. 
Doubled  his  speed  each  leap  he  flew 
Like  star-shot  pierces  the  overblue. 
Keeping  me  hard  in  sight, 


Not  So  Quick  1039 

Rushed  at  me,  bristled  his  pall  of  hide, 
Yet  could  not  stop  now  I  stepped  aside 

To  let  him  go  by; 
No  stay  for  him  on  such  hanging  steep, 
Force  was  fierce  as  the  pit  was  deep 
And  dug  for  such  as  would  die. 

On  down  he  flew  at  pace  so  fleet 
Body  shot  faster  than  all  the  feet, 

So  took  to  the  air 
By  round  leaps,  rings  of  somersaults; 
Each  manoeuvre,  save  only  the  halts, 
Of  the  hurricane  was  there ! 

Stump-tops,  boulders  fell  in  ahead, 

As  if  they,  too,  now  raised  from  the  dead, 

Would  join  such  vSport; 
So  I  lost  him — I  could  bear  my  loss — 
Yet  shuddered  to  watch  him  flop  and  toss 
His  dumbhead  hide  into  port. 

Down  I  stalked  to  know  of  him, 
In  a  gorge's  gulch  by  the  river-brim. 

Where  his  wreck  was  wrought, 
When,  lo,  his  epitaph,  just  a  scratch 
Of  blood  and  hair  on  a  granite  patch. 
And  one  more  lesson  was  taught! 


AFTER  DEATH 
Prelude 

To  die  is  divine ! 

How  the  iron  hills  nor  die  nor  pine 
Nor  wrinkle  nor  lose  a  tear, 
Yet  for  deep  eons  they  are  here! 
To  die  is  divine,  ever  provided 
My  living  always  was  all-sided 
To  right,  love,  power 
Of  man-majesty,  vast  good. 
Which  come  to  master  the  puma-mood 
And  rat-bite  and  cross-breed 
Which  mingle  spirit,  by  whatever  stretch. 
With  sliminess  and  the  dragon-wretch 
Of  murderous  purpose,  gut-greed 
To  get,  by  whatever  means,  through  clay 
One  new  shoot  of  blossom-ray 
To  sparkle  in  a  perfecter  day. 
Just  as  yonder  water-lip  star 
Picks  white  light  up  to  turn  it  blue 
Or  Epsom,  as  the  planets  are. 
Or  steel  or  umber-roan  for  you — 
You  the  clay-gem  to  let  spirit 
Plunge  through  the  grit,  burn  and  spear  it 
To  take  on  color,  force  fashion 
To  outmaster  and  outshine  passion, 
Pot-purpose,  weather-cock  breath, 
To  loom  in  some  zenith  after  death. 
1040 


After  Death  1041 


What  could  be  plainer  than  this, 

That  all  of  the  weather-white  sky 

Is  light,  nor  darkness  is 
Any  part  of  eternity? 

Oceans  of  fire,  showers  of  suns 

Where  Phard  kindles,  Bungula  runs! 

II 

Light  comes  my  way. 

Yet  from  where  it  comes 
When  night  swamps  and  the  woodcock  drums 

Who  shall  say? 
Only  I  know  this  thing, 

The  wizard  has  foot  and  wing, 
Makes  night  into  day 

By  his  fire-fly  play. 

Ill 

Now  for  one  touch  of  earth 

To  draw  his  worth: 
See,  I  take  this  chrysoprase 

For  the  green  I  think  it  has, 
Yet  only  by  a  shot  of  light 

Is  the  soul  in  it  put  to  flight! 

IV 

Or  this  essonite 

Blood-red  on  sight 
At  a  stab  of  light ! 

My  cochineal  ring  of  glass 
Through  which  I  let  the  white  ray  pass 

To  snare  the  scarlet  which  it  has! 

66 


I042  After  Death 


This  is  my  sapphire  and  I  knew  it 

Soon  as  I  let  daylight  through  it, 
One  stroke  of  heaven  to  true  and  blue  it. 

But  would  I  have  surprise, 
Trap  all  colors  of  all  the  skies, 

Lo,  my  diamond's  polyglot  eyes, 
Only  one  white  ball  of  dew 

To  throw  me  orange,  bullseye  blue! 


VI 


Ah,  but  I  can  hear  you  say, 

This  blue  is  only  for  a  day ! 
I  answer:  'T  is  but  a  little  stone, 

So  the  blue  in  it  soon  is  gone ; 
But  take  my  gentianella  star 

Which  looks  from  such  uncomputed  far, 
The  pink  of  it  will  pinken  my  dawn 

Eons  after  the  pith  is  gone ! 


VII 


Soul  is  roundabout 

As  light  is,  never  out, 
Never  any  room  for  doubt 

But  soul  is  universal  free 
As  light  is  to  leap  eternity. 

As  light  is  to  pierce  my  gem 
To  come  to  wealth  of  diadem. 

Get  the  fine  pond-eye  blue 
By  running  a  thumb  of  crystal  through. 


After  Death  1043 

VIII 

How  truly  I  could  not  say 

Spirit  is  a  part  of  clay, 
Part  of  yonder  mountain-make, 
Nob  on  like  an  Easter  cake ! 
Hunt  for  it  in  your  pot  of  glass, 

Hunt  where  the  rain  has  laid  the  grass, 
Where  my  rose-ousel  ties  to  a  stem, 

No  more  is  it  a  part  of  them 
Than  this  twilight  is  part  of  the  flame 

Of  Sirius  from  which  it  came. 

IX 

There  are  the  chalk  and  quartz  of  you, 

Body  to  let  spirit  through 
To  take  on  shape  and  color  too, 

Beauty  by  every  kind  of  mould 
To  no  end,  more  than  could  be  told 

Where  spaces  wait  and  the  stars  arc  gold; 
Body  to  let  spirit  through 

X 

To  give  it  another  red  or  blue 

Than  ever  touched  the  eyes  of  you ; 
Body  to  focus  soul,  and  so 

Shape  it  a  new  dog-rose  glow 
To  glisten  and  always  to  lie 

Like  star-pink  on  yonder  sky. 

XI 

How  3''oung  he  was  to  have  died, 

Gentle  Edward — how  young  to  go, 
And  I  so  young,  and  the  field  so  wide 
Between  us  I  could  not  know 


I044  After  Death 

What  it  meant  that  noon-auburn  hour 

He  failed  to  bring  mc  his  prophet-flower. 

XII 

Tune-bug  and  frog-wallop  of  spring 

Drew  to  an  end  of  carolling, 
As  if  they  listened  and  knew 

He  would  so  soon  say  adieu 
To  all  about  him  he  could  see, 

His  grass-lap,  his  jouncing  bee 
Full  of  flight  and  melody. 

His  bell- vine  over  the  door 
He  should  take  to  his  heart  no  more. 

xm 

Down  over  the  green  long  lawn 

His  last  step  and  look  were  now, 
So  soon  he  would  be  gone. 

He  of  the  spiritual  brow. 
Of  the  rich  wide  eyes,  as  if  his  sight 

Were  weighted  with  wealth  of  light — 
To  think  of  it  that  he  would  be  gone, 

Nevermore  his  sun-fed  lawn 
For  him  to  creep  and  feast  upon! 

XIV 

Did  I  think  of  him 

For  perfect  eye  and  limb, 
For  the  rose-bush  look  of  cheek 

To  say  so  much,  nor  once  to  speak, 
For  the  fine  unworldly  hand 


After  Death  1045 

Of  such  gentleness  of  command, 
Then  would  I  look  across  his  lawn 
To  think  of  him  as  lost  and  gone. 

XV 

But  that  was  of  him  was  so  fair 

I  could  not  see  nor  think  it  out, 
Some  ultra-being  half  hidden  there, 

Which  was  Beauty,  past  a  doubt, 
Like  this  flood  of  light  is  trying  to  break 

Through  my  island  gem  to  force  a  way 
Out  of  it  and  beyond  the  clay 

To  come  to  crimson  and  violet-make. 

XVI 

Is  he  gone  so  far,  do  you  think? 

Look  to  yonder  meadowink. 
His  eye  of  olive-coppered  pink. 

His  song-burst — did  it  come 
Of  gullet  or  duodenum? 

See  how  next  he  will  lunge 
Where  the  sun-beams  plunge 

Only  to  pack  his  eyes 
Full  of  shining  skies 

To  rain  me  his  down-pour  of  song 
In  his  bobbin-play — 

Is  he  so  far  away? 

XVII 

Is  man  now  at  his  best, 

Or  does  spirit  run  him  through 
Like  light  to  throw  a  lordlier  blue 

New  shape  across  the  west 


1046  After  Death 

To  climb,  and  evermore  to  climb 

To  lordlier  purpose,  more  sublime 

Than  ever  once  could  be  seen 

By  man  in  his  small  bowling-green — 

Soul  bound  to  take  a  new  shape 

By  passing  through  the  vein  and  nape? 

XVIII 

That  way  I  have  him  to  not  lose  him ! 

Body  shaped  his  soul  to  use  him 
For  such  nobler  purpose  beyond, 

And  so  I  must  see  him  unbond 
From  earth,  I  must  let  him  go 

To  the  new  other  high  height 
As  if  his  soul  were  made  of  flight, 

While  yet,  in  spite  of  all  I  know, 
These  tears — how  the  sun  splits  through 

To  give  them  the  salmon-spark  and  blue, 
In  spite  of  all  my  sorrow  too ! 

XIX 

My  oxeye  sandpiper  will  drink  the  light. 
Hop  his  hop,  take  his  dip  and  bite, 

Yet  will  I  measure  his  soul  by  his  flight! 


EAGLE  SONG 

The  rain,  the  cold  rain  in  my  eyes, 

And  the  mist 
Where  I  seize  my  ledge  by  the  iron  wrist 
For  a  start — there  's  a  way  to  rise 
Alive  and  aloof  if  I  look  for  skies. 

Fog  chokes  my  cheek  of  muttering 

Now  I  go 
To  strike  for  flight  from  this  undertow 
Of  shallowment  to  hurl  my  wing 
At  storm-shot  and  the  thunder-fling. 

The  blue  cold  blast  at  my  throat. 

Pinch  and  chill, 
To  rise  on — now  for  one  tug  of  will 
Where  dark  is  what  the  whip-oak  smote, 
Where  fire  is  a  line  the  lightning  wrote. 

Up  at  it  fair  for  a  leap 

Into  space, 
Neither  here  nor  there,  but  to  mount  all  place 
For  one  vasty  sweep  upon  sweep — 
I  fetch  heart-end-up  to  face  the  deep ! 

What  odds  the  tug,  so  I  make  scope? 

A  thing  to  do 
Is  to  plow  the  thundrous  fierce  heaven  through 
For  power  which  I  get  to  rise,  to  grope, 
Nor  keep  a  quillful  of  fear,  of  hope. 
1047 


1048  Eagle  Song 

What  of  the  masterful  stroke  of  fire, 

So  I  see 
How  bafflement  makes  for  that  power  in  mc 
Which  pitches  to  high  and  higher 
Like  the  blossoming  of  a  God's  desire? 

Pimple  earth  is  what  I  would  leap 

To  escape 
To  where  new  Beauty  takes  nobler  shape, 
And  on  again,  new  deep  to  deep, 
Now  I  hold  one  truth,  there  comes  no  sleep 

Nor  rest  of  purpose,  nor  end  of  plan 

Or  power 
I  get  to  by  striving  each  new  hour 
For  mightiness  to  be  most  I  can, 
My  no-end  thought — flight  without  a  plan. 

Up  through  this  black  thick  runs  my  run 

Above  shroud, 
Beyond  swill-pool  world,  spit-fire  cloud 
To  where  one  evermore  sky  is  begun — 
I  beat  cloud  down  to  seize  the  sun! 


A  SHRIVING  PEN 

The  child  was  a  beautiful  girl, 
In  the  careless  keen  whirl 

Of  a  girl ; 
Scarce  a  thought  of  herself,  nor  thought 
How  soul 's  sold  and  bought, 
Nor  dream  of  your  street's 
Puts  and  pits  full  of  cheats. 

Not  a  thought. 

Up  country  life  served  scarce  a  use; 
There  was  little  to  choose 

Or  to  lose 
But  poor  prints  of  a  heart  in  each  check- 
How  great  hearts  may  not  speak. 
So  they  prick  it  to  write 
Through  the  cheek,  red  or  white, 

Bold  or  weak ! 

Sun-up  to  sundown  on  her  hills 
Brought  no  aims,  no  ills. 

No  thrills; 
Half  a  poor  little  farm  at  her  feet 
For  the  small  bread  and  meat ; 
Scarce  a  handfull  of  straw 
To  choke  holes  in  a  thaw, 

Stop  the  sleet. 
1049 


1050  A  Shriving  Pen 


"But  the  town!   Ah,  me,  but  the  town, 
With  its  luck  up  and  down, 

Clerk  or  clown ! 
To  take  chances  in  life,  win  or  not, 
So  you  cast  in  your  lot 
At  one  sip  of  a  breath, 
Play  the  game  to  the  death 

On  the  spot ! 

"If  I  lose,  to  the  spire  and  cowl 
To  deliver  my  soul 

Free  of  toll ; 
You  may  trust  a  priest — he  tells  you  so — 
Since  they  see  and  they  know 
All  there  was  or  was  not 
Ere  the  stars  were  begot. 

So  they  do. 

"And  I  would  know  somewhat  of  this 
Monster  knowledge  of  his, 

What  it  is; 
Why  all  my  stubbled  days  up  here 
For  a  mock,  for  a  sneer? 
Give  me  life's  ring  and  rush, 
Life  with  its  fling  and  flush. 

Cheap  or  dear!" 

The  passion  to  know,  to  do, 
To  feel  just  as  you. 

How  it  flew 
Through  her  brain  to  the  pit  of  her  heart, 
To  a  stop  and  a  start, 
Till  the  blood  plunged  and  tore 
Her  soul  to  its  core, 

Half  apart! 


A  Shriving  Pen  1051 

Here  was  her  black-speckled  sin : 
She  felt  life  begin 

From  within, 
Her  longing  to  dominate  fate, 
To  be  useful  and  great ; 
'T  was  sin  to  step  up, 
Step  down,  stand  or  stoop, 

Love  or  hate. 

Off,  then,  to  one  priest  of  the  town. 
In  her  polygon  gown 

Dotted  brown; 
Then  straight  to  a  stall  to  confess 
And  pray  for  redress : 
"Know  my  sin  has  been  great, 
For  I  pouted  at  fate. 

Nothing  less." 

The  fat  father,  cooped  in  his  sty, 
Caught  the  droop  of  her  eye. 

Maiden-shy; 
Two  lips  curled  out,  two  loops  of  flame 
Of  the  fire  whence  they  came. 
Which  was  spread,  hot  and  quick, 
To  her  cheeks,  like  a  kick 

Of  her  shame. 

He  too  was  drunken  with  youth. 
This  first  high  priest  of  ruth. 

Prince  of  Truth, 
Till  conscience  swooned,  paled  away 
Now  passion  took  to  play 
With  lips  and  lips  on  lips 
For  savage  sensuous  dips. 

Beast  and  prey ! 


1052  A  Shriving  Pen 

Six  black  days  of  a  week  of  hell 
Dragged  them  down  as  they  fell, 

Till  the  knell 
Of  the  seventh  day,  which  was  the  Lord's  day 
Rang  them  up  and  away. 
The  wild  priest  to  his  peers, 
The  child  to  her  tears, 

So  they  say. 

How  their  pomp  and  chime  of  High  Mass, 
Of  bold  splendor  it  has, 

How  alas, 
Their  cold  chant,  their  dominant  dome, 
Steel  helmet  of  Rome, 
Warned  her  off,  shut  her  ovit ! 
Not  a  welcome  about, 

Nor  a  home! 

One  hundred  red  robes  sent  their  glare 
Like  a  blush  on  the  air 

And  for  fair 
Swept  the  aisles  and  wings  to  the  nave 
In  one  blood-painted  wave 
Through  each  swell  and  fall 
Of  a  chant,  like  a  call 

Of  her  grave. 

She  had  not  a  heart  to  step  in 
With  her  burden  of  sin 

At  God's  Inn; 
Too  brave  to  confess  and  discover 
Her  monk  of  a  lover; 
Never  friend,  save  her  star 
Above  her,  far  to  far 

Above  her! 


A  Shriving  Pen  1053 

Anthem  past  anthem  sweeps  the  skies 
Now  tired  evening  sighs 
Where  it  dies; 
Blue-jeweled  priests  in  scarlet  wild 
Over  their  chancel  filed 
To  conjure  up  spell  and  spell 
Of  a  way  out  of  Hell — 

But  the  child? 

Calm  and  storm  of  song 

Still  break  forth  from  their  throng 

Deep  and  long; 
The  monk  was  made  cardinal  undefiled, 
Men  bowed  when  he  smiled, 
For  they  sinned  and  confessed, 
Kissed  the  cross  and  were  blessed — 

But  the  child? 


ELSEWHERE 


I  'vE  waited  (how  long!)  for  you, 

Whom  I  have  not  seen  in  this  world  as  yet, 

'Though  I  know  you  for  solemn  true, 

And  I  have  you  to  love — there  's  the  thing— 

I  have  you  to  love  for  a  whole  life  yet 

Of  jonquilest  music  summering 

To  drop  not  a  leaf,  since  this  much  is  true, 

I  have  you  at  your  best  and  new 

If  I  have  but  the  soul  of  you. 

II 

I  Ve  footed  my  long  years  out 

To  know  you  not  once  in  the  woman  world, 

'Though  you  are  there,  of  that  no  doubt, 

My  other  part  of  me,  twice  as  fair 

'Though  hidden,  like  a  light  is  impearled 

And  I  no  cunning  to  tra^)  it  there. 

So  I  keep  my  trust  and  my  love  of  you 

To  lose  you  never — there  's  a  way  to  do 

If  I  have  but  the  soul  of  you. 


Ill 


Suppose  you  to  come  to  me 
To  tie  me  to  you — the  altar-knot — 
1054 


Elsewhere  1055 

For  what  you  could  taste  and  touch  and  see 

To  chafe  at,  or  to  swallow  joy, 

To  hover  at  each  honey-pot, 

Flutter,  fly  to  lip-alloy, 

Yet  would  be  lacking  that  finer  true 

Vast  sweetliness  which  is  always  new 

Now  I  have  but  the  soul  of  you. 

IV 

Well  I  know  what  you  will  say 

If  you  see  it,  this  I  have  written  here: 

Bosom  and  love  must  have  their  way 

Of  worldishness  to  make  out  a  case 

Of  life-living  to  add  another  year 

Of  multiplication  of  a  race — 

Yet  they  may  have  it  this  whole  life  through, 

Ear-pink,  bosomy  vein-streak  blue, 

If  I  have  but  the  soul  of  you. 


The  other  one  there,  he  took 
Your  flower-leaf  cheek,  budded  lip. 
Your  eye  which  burns  to  a  linnet-look. 
He  took  your  kiss  and  your  hollow  hand 
You  gave  him — one  day  he  shall  let  it  slip 
To  crumble  like  a  doll  of  sand — 
He  may  have  them  to  keep  in  view. 
Your  sunrise-eye,  your  heartfulness  too, 
If  I  have  but  the  soul  of  you. 

VI 

For,  think,  am  I  not  to  know 

My  mate  in  the  ample  round  worlds  of  God. 


1056  Elsewhere 

While  he  there  may  keep  you  to  grow 
To  his  lock  of  lips  his  whole  life  through, 
While  I  put  these  arms  'round  a  breast  of  sod 
In  place  of  her  whom  my  spirit  knew? 
For  this  life,  yes,  he  may  have  you  to  mue, 
And  then  my  turn — then  will  I  woo 
To  win  the  very  soul  of  you. 

VII 

Even  now  that  I  stop  to  dream, 

These  eyes  I  close  let  a  new  light  in 

And  I  come  to  know  how  you  speak  and  seem 

When  the  bank  of  flesh  is  not  there 

To  keep  you  down,  nor  a  breath  of  sin, 

And  you  come  with  your  new-time  kindlier  care 

And  Beauty  this  world  never  knew, 

Which  I  have  to  keep  the  wide  ages  through 

If  I  have  but  the  soul  of  you. 


BREAD  ON  THE  WATERS 

God  knows  a  robin  flutes  for  love  of  song, 

Not  thinking  of  the  prize 
Which,  perhaps,  may  come  along, 

Or  may  not,  but  keeps  on  fluting 
For  the  prizes  in  his  song. 

A  little  way  to  go, 

A  littler  thing  to  know, 
But  mightier  soul  to  grow. 

And  am  I  not  satisfied  to  have  found  a  place 
Where  suns  laugh  while  the  great  worlds  chase 

Each  other  out  of  time  and  space? 

Have  I  need  to  whine 

And  the  soul  of  me  mine 
And  my  power  divine 

To  know  I  am  an  abundant  part  of  what 
Makes  for  power  which  the  world  has  not, 
Is  not  compounded  to  come  to  nought? 

What  is  for  me  to  miss 

And  the  plain  truth  this 
That  I  am  all  there  is 

Of  what  I  see  about  these  climbing  spaces? 
Without  me  they  have  neither  eyes  nor  faces, 

While  everywhere  and  way  my  play  and  place  is? 


A  girl  was  I  as  the  butterfly  hops, 

An  ear  to  hark  where  the  woodcock  chops, 
An  eye  to  the  kinglark  that  spHts  his  cloud 

For  a  storm  of  song,  and  the  Gods  are  proud. 
67  1057 


I 


1058  Bread  on  the  Waters 

Just  a  girl  as  most  girls  are, 

Little  at  hand,  and  love  was  far 
And  pale  as  my  morning  star. 

Never  I  thought  what  love  could  be, 

Never  I  thought 
I  am  part  of  immensity 

And  more  is  evermore  to  be, 
Finer  and  greater  to  be  wrought 

Than  ever  I  thought. 

What  a  way  life  is  to  be  going, 

Always  a  little  less  to  be  showing. 
Always  a  little  more  to  be  growing ! 

So  I  bungalowed. 

So  I  swooned  or  I  toed 
The  dance — there  was  my  chance: 

The  life  of  the  soul  is  in  the  dance, 
Pleasure  's  the  cake  of  circumstance ! 

There  might  be  children  in  the  street 

Of  hungry  ribs,  naked  feet — 
Mine  was  the  piccolo  life  and  sweet. 

There  might  be  men  would  keep  their  hand 
To  the  shovel  till  they  too  were  sand — 
Were  not  the  roses  at  my  command? 

One  little  life  to  know, 

A  feather- flight  or  so, 
A  little  puff  and  show 

And  all  is  well  done  in  the  end,  do  you  think, 
And  you  have  tricked  the  Gods  by  a  wink 

At  your  game  of  feathers  and  apple-drink? 


Bread  on  the  Waters  1059 

So  I  thought  and  so  I  did, 

I  toiled  for  what  I  could  get 
For  the  self  in  me — my  whole  heart  was  hid, 

Nor  love  in  my  life  was  yet. 

Earth  was  here — earth  was  enough, 

I  the  puddle-bird  to  stick 
My  beak  in  where  the  mud  was  thick 

Nor  ever  a  thought  of  love. 
Nor  thought  of  what  I  could  do 

By  greatness  of  heart  like  the  best  of  you. 

One  autumn  sort  of  a  day, 

Just  as  I  had  gone  to  play 
At  arrows  to  hit  the  popinjay. 

Just  as  I  had  drawn  my  bow 
Full  length  to  let  the  arrow  go, 

My  aim  put  straight  as  a  dart 
To  try  to  split  the  hardened  heart, 

Lo,  a  touch  at  my  shoulder! — 
What  could  be  gentler,  bolder 

Than  such  firm-fingered  touch, 
No  gentleness  like  it  such. 

With  "Will  you  not  aim  my  way. 
Yonder  target  is  only  clay. 

Is  nothing  to  hit,  so  you  see 
You  waste  your  archery — 

Will  you  not  have  a  shot  at  me?" 

Now  I  turned  and  now  I  saw 

What  a  girl's  heart  hungers  for, 
My  man  of  the  handsome  brow, 

Of  summer  smile,  rainbow-bow 
And  art  of  knowing  when  and  how 


io6o  Bread  on  the  Waters 

To  make  the  most  of  what 
Goes  for  trifle,  yet  counts  so  much, 
:  The  eye-beam  and  flower-touch 

Of  favor — his  forget-me-not ! 

Never  I  saw  him  before, 
'  My  man  of  this  hour! 

What  strong  eyes  he  had,  and  more, 

What  yielding,  what  power 
To  look  to  be  kind  and  true 

As  true  noblemen  do. 
And  what  should  a  girl  but  say, 

Her  surprise  of  a  way: 
"My  popinjay  over  there, 
'  I  hit  it  for  fair. 

And  sure  as  the  heart  is  of  clay 

My  arrow  will  stay; 
But  soul,  should  I  hit  it,  what  then? 
/  My  shot  might  be  vain. 

So  much  I  fear  lest  my  dart 

Would  not  cling  in  your  heart!" 

How  I  remember 

That  free  September, 
His  straight  lion  look, 

His  mild  smile  he  took 
To  tell  me  his  thought. 

This  young  yaupon-fiower 
Which  he  plucked  and  brought 

From  his  cedar-bower. 
The  which  I  have  kept 

While  the  years  have  gone. 
While  my  hope  has  slept, 

While  my  soul  was  born! 


Bread  on  the  Waters  1061 

Side  by  side  each  day 

We  wandered  in  and  out 
Where  the  bell-robins  play, 

Fritillaries  pout, 
Held  fast  to  our  task 

To  watch  new  cloud  display 
One  thin  veil  of  sway 

To  stop  the  sun  from  play, 
See  the  sun  unmask — 

Drifting  now,  now  going 
To  my  moon-shaped  lake 

Where  the  swans  were  rowing, 
Where  the  sand-heaps  bake, 

Took  an  hour  for  tasting 
Of  each  sweetened  wind 

Till  the  flowers  were  thinned 
Of  breath  and  wasting — 

How  my  soul  was  pinned! 
Did  he  not  tell  me  of  love. 

All  that  I  ever  knew. 
How  the  struggle  of  life  is  enough. 

Is  the  best  of  it  too 
If  you  dodge  the  wrong  and  the  rough. 

Keep  the  kind  way  and  true. 

Where  the  ground-pink  is  squandered 

In  the  woods. 
Where  pickabuds  have  wandered 

Into  moods 
Of  unpremediated  song 
In  the  rafters,  like  a  gong 

Full  of  glees. 
We  were  in  among  the  trees, 

In  and  out, 


io62  Bread  on  the  Waters 

After  any  flower  you  please, 

Caught  the  shout 
Of  the  bobwhite  in  the  breeze, 
Caught  the  saw-song  of  the  bees, 

Caught  the  smell 
Of  the  frankincense  of  flowers 

And  the  knell 
Of  the  moose-bird  in  his  towers^ 
Where  you  go,  go  where  you  please. 
What  wonder  like  the  wealth  of  these ! 

Now  came  his  words  to  me  of  love 

As  fell  the  redded  leaves 
In  flocks  about  us — how  soul  unweaves 

At  touches  of  sun,  one  touch  enough- 
I  was  his  flower  he  should  keep 

Till  suns  fall  asleep; 
His  sign  of  dawn  was  my  slip 

Of  geranium  lip; 
One  little  toss  of  my  hand 

A  word  of  command; 
Nothing  his  heart  held  in  fee 

Save  the  image  of  me, 
Like  our  lake  there,  one  clear  blue  eye 

Held  the  print  of  the  sky 
As  I  held  the  print  of  his  lips 

— So  the  lark  sings  and  sips — 
Since  I  could  trust  him,  I  knew. 

For  masterful  true. 
Now  my  soul  and  my  heart  were  gone 

And  so  wholly  were  his 
I  rather  I  never  were  born 

Than  have  him  to  miss, 
So  much  in  my  heart  he  was  and  is! 


Bread  on  the  Waters  1063 

The  next  day  morning  he  was  to  come 
To  find  me  where  the  beetles  drum, 

Where  my  palm-birds  cheep  and  chum 
And  honeysuckles  hum. 

The  next  day  truly  the  great  sun  came, 

Face  as  red  as  a  tortured  flame, 
Looking  like  a  face  of  shame 

Because  he  never  came. 

Because  he  never  came  I  could  say 

He  had  forgotten,  went  his  way 
After  his  afternoon  of  play 

With  me,  his  cat-paw  play. 

Could  it  be  true,  I  thought,  of  all  men, 

That  they  love  again  and  again, 
Make  so  little  of  the  pain, 

Count  the  conquest  vain? 

All  the  long  day  I  waited  to  know 

If  the  truth  could  be  truly  so, 
If  he  could  leave  me,  could  go, 

Now  that  I  loved  him  so. 

Evening  lay  tucked  in  the  willow  boughs, 
Tired  ploughmen  let  go  their  plows. 

Tired  falcon  forgot  his  spouse 
Like  my  man  and  his  vows. 

Now  are  the  wild  woods  ftdl  of  him! 
The  lark  in  his  zambomba  limb 
Tunes  his  tune  to  the  voice  of  him! 

Now  my  reed-bird  is  loud  and  plain, 

Wraps  his  heart  in  such  wild  refrain, 
Calls  him  to  come  to  me  once  again. 


1064  Bread  on  the  Waters 

Do  I  look  to  my  purple  flower, 

I  see  him  there  in  his  handsome  power, 
Or  there  where  the  stars  drop  their  evening  shower. 

My  meadow-brook  will  pass  me  by, 

Is  dark  and  cold  where  the  shadows  die, 
Yet  comes  again,  passes  me  never  by. 

Is  he  gone  away,  I  thought. 

Evermore  gone  from  me  and  not 
One  word,  and  I  so  soon  forgot? 

By  night  I  heard  the  high  wind  say 
There  would  come  another  day, 
And  always  and  always  the  higher  way. 

I  could  hear  the  mother  bird  shout 

For  her  little  ones  blown  away. 
Could  see  yonder  sailor-cloud  pout 

To  lose  the  moon  at  her  lighthouse-play. 

My  man  is  about  me  full  the  same, 

'Though  he  never  came; 
Is  there  among  my  pheasantry  trees. 

Bows  and  straightens  like  one  of  these, 
Ducks  and  whispers  and  tries  to  please. 

Do  I  look  to  my  hills  beyond, 

To  the  bloodroot  in  the  grass, 
Watch  these  sword-lilies  split  the  pond. 

Why  there  he  is,  and  my  world  is  glass 
To  capture  and  will  not  let  him  pass. 

The  warm  wind  is  'round  me,  hands  and  arms. 

At  my  neck  and  cheek  with  clinging  palms — 
'T  is  he  with  his  spiritful  of  charms ! 


Bread  on  the  Waters  1065 

This  is  love,  I  begin  to  say, 

Large  as  soul,  takes  a  larger  way 
Than  to  look  to  only  what  I  may  get 

By  way  of  compensation,  set 
My  heart  on  my  man,  as  if  to  get 

My  prize  were  life  to  the  profit  net! 

This  is  love  of  all  about  me, 

Of  all  I  ever  saw  or  knew, 
Not  a  beetle  to  doubt  me 

But  I  shall  be  kind  and  true 
To  all  the  world  about  me 

By  what  I  most  may  do, 
And  so  I  girt  and  stout  me 

My  most  to  be  kind  and  true. 

Another  way  to  go, 

A  larger  world  to  know, 
Deeper  soul  to  show 

Than  what  I  may  wear  in  a  shoe  for  size 
Or  pick  at  with  one  pair  of  eyes. 

And  has  not  love  left  me  more  than  wise? 

He  taught  me  love, 

My  man  of  simplex  thought; 
Is  that,  in  God's  name,  not  enough. 

Or  was  there  more  he  could  have  brought, 
More  he  could  have  left  behind 

Than  love  to  largen  my  jump  of  mind 

To  see  he  is  not  gone. 

To  see  the  thing  so  clear, 
That  soul  means  on  and  on. 

Means  everywhere  as  here 


io66  Bread  on  the  Waters 

Power  reaches  to  compass  more 

Than  all  which  has  gone  before, 
Something  so  nobler  and  other 

Than  just  my  love  of  my  lover-brother 
That  I  have  him  too  and  more 

Than  all  which  has  gone  before 
To  deal  me  this  one  truth  plain : 

Small  is  one  life  in  the  soul's  domain 
By  what  I  have  in  me  to  know 

Soul  is  King  and  will  have  it  so. 

Ah,  but  I  hear  j^ou  say. 

He  is  gone  away, 
Clean  gone  out  of  my  life 

And  I  nor  mother  nor  wife, 
Nor  he  to  hold  me  for  dear 

As  life  is,  nor  bring  me  cheer, 
Like  my  swallow  trumps  to  his  mate 

When  dark  broods  and  the  moon  is  late, 
And  I  'm  not  to  have  him  now  and  here. 

Now  and  here  make  only  parts 

Of  this  ocean  of  hearts; 
I  know  my  power  and  my  place 

Where  the  planets  race; 
I  know  myself  for  the  God 

Above  crumbs  and  sod; 
I  know  my  way  which  is  clear 

Beyond  now  and  here 
To  compass  all  that  I  am 

Beyond  trick  and  sham, 
To  make  my  way  by  my  dower 

Of  love,  which  is  power; 


Bread  on  the  Waters  1067 

Of  Right,  which  royals  my  day, 

Has  Right  to  pay; 
Of  Truth,  which  kingdoms  this  earth 

By  one  golden  girth, 
That  I  shall  come  to  full  power 

Above  landlock  and  hour 
To  learn  the  trick  to  un-knee, 

Take  flight  to  be  free 
To  master  spaces  and  breath 

High  time  above  death, 
Deal  straight  with  eternity 

For  what  belongs  to  me, 
And  I  shall  have  him,  I  know, 

For  he  too  shall  grow. 
Sure  I  shall  have  him  to  keep 

Where  the  Gemini  sleep. 
Clean  beyond  moon-fields  or  Mars, 

In  the  streets  of  the  stars ! 


II 

Now  to  my  work  of  life, 

To  my  honest  strife. 
To  put  my  love  to  test. 

Do  my  best ! 

This  is  my  alfalfa  field. 

Full  of  purple  useful  yield 

Of  sweetness,  which  is  growth 
To  the  purple  blowth, 

And  here  I  am  come  to  stay. 
Here  will  I  take  their  way, 

My  flowers  at  their  working-day- 


io68  Bread  on  the  Waters 

They  breathe  their  sweetness  to  fly 
Higher  than  they,  to  touch  the  sky — 
What  matter  if  the  jaw-jowls  die? 

Now  to  my  work  of  Hfc, 

To  my  honest  high  strife: 

Are  there  children  now  in  the  street 

Of  hungry  ribs,  naked  feet, 
Then  is  my  life  not  all  suckle-sweet. 

Is  there  power  I  am  to  acquire 

By  conquest  of  each  mean  desire, 
Then  leaps  this  heart  in  me  high  and  higher. 

Is  life  my  best  by  what  I  gain 

Of  soul  above  a  world's  domain. 
Then  is  no  breath  of  me  pufifed  in  vain. 

Was  I  not  born  my  day  to  do 

My  noblest,  nor  to  have  in  view 
More  than  my  noblest  to  be  and  do? 

Am  I  not  to  outclimb  this  sod, 

Drink  my  tears,  smash  each  smiting-rod, 
Yet  you  think  only  God  is  God ! 

Ill 

Such  long  years  have  passed  in  the  new  way ! 

I  've  been  foremost  true! 
Always  I  had  the  concord  thing  to  say, 

Spirit  thing  to  do. 
Hugged  no  happiness  I  could  not  share 

With  my  brother  there 
In  his  tough  path — I  fetched  him  a  lift 

By  my  courage-gift. 


Bread  on  the  Waters  1069 

Dragged  him  out  of  his  hell  of  a  ditch 

To  my  highest  pitch  ! 
Always  I  kept  my  love  of  my  man, 

Yet  always  I  kept 
My  fuller  love,  the  large-hearted  span, 

Nor  this  heart  has  slept. 
Only  I  thought  in  the  world  to  do 

What  of  me  was  first, 
So  well  I  knew  the  wrong  other  cue 

In  the  end  is  curst. 

All  these  years  of  patient  doing. 

So  many  years  of  soul  in  my  work 
For  others,  lifting,  newing, 

Nothing  I  would  shunt  or  shirk, 
And  now  there  came  my  wonderful  day: 

The  sun  seemed  to  walk  in  my  way, 
So  many  origans  swayed  in  the  field 

With  each  wind,  as  if  the  wind  were  heeled 
In  shoes  of  flowers  which  I  caught, 

And  the  wind  went  barefoot  through  the  lot. 

In  I  come  to  town. 

There  is  my  child  of  the  street, 
Pinched  in  close  as  a  frown. 

Hungry  ribs,  naked  feet. 
Little  to  hope  he  has. 

People  let  the  poor  child  pass 
For  they  must  go  to  their  church 

To  spread  feathers  and  pucker  and  perch. 

My  new  day  was  begun: 

I  put  the  child  in  the  sun. 
Tumbled  my  origans  in  his  lap, 

Flung  my  smiles  at  my  little  chap. 


loyo  Bread  on  the  Waters 

Caught  the  smutted  face  and  palms 

Close  as  life  is  in  these  arms, 
Gave  him  my  love  and  lips 

As  the  sun  in  any  brown  flower  dips 
Till  I  had  him  smiling  too 

For  joy  just  as  any  of  you, 
When — lo,  a  touch  at  my  shoulder, 

What  could  be  gentler,  bolder, 
Than  such  firm-fingered  touch, 

No  gentleness  like  it  such, 
With  "There  you  have  aimed  my  way, 

Your  arrow  is  gone  through  the  clay, 
Is  clinging  in  the  soul  of  me 

Just  by  your  perfect  archery" — 
There  he  was — oh,  there  he  was. 

My  man  there — there  he  stood, 
After  such  years  of  pause. 

As  that  first  day  in  our  pigeon  wood 
He  loved  me  and  I  knew  it 

Each  way  he  said  and  shew  it, 
And  I,  the  thin-hearted  girl. 

Prided  in  my  neck  and  curl 
And  pomp-walk  and  Roman  pearl, 

And  he  saw  it,  and  so 
Went  his  way,  let  me  go, 

Left  me  to  climb  and  grow — 


And  now  he  comes  again, 

Keeps  his  same  look,  strong  and  plain. 
Gentle,  nothing  vain; 

Silver  silvers  the  handsome  brow. 
Nought  is  gone  of  the  rainbow-bow 

Or  art  of  knowing  when  and  how 


Bread  on  the  Waters  1071 

To  find  me  after  I  have  grown 

Soul  which  he  could  claim  and  own — 

One  touch  just  and  we  were  one, 

One  look  without  one  thought — 
Nought  above  the  heart  was  wrought, 

Silent  as  the  burning  sun 
Love  is — all  my  love  and  lips 

Which  I  gave  to  my  small  brown  flower 
That  tried  to  put  up  finger-tips 

Through  his  mudded  street  and  shower, 
All  my  heart  which  I  gave  him 

To  try  to  raise  and  save  him 
I  got  back  now  from  my  man  of  love 

As  he  drew  me  to  him,  such  gentle  touch, 
No  gentleness  like  it  such. 

Just  the  one  touch  enough — 
As  the  sun  and  his  columbine. 

Two  souls  longing  to  combine — 
And  all  my  love  which  I  gave 

To  the  world  to  be  true  and  brave 
To  do  my  most  to  help  and  save. 

All  of  it  now  I  have  back  again 
Out  of  his  great  heart's  domain, 

All  of  it  over  and  over  again. 

What  a  way  life  is  to  be  going. 

Always  a  little  less  to  be  showing, 
Always  a  little  more  to  be  growing ! 

Never  I  thought  what  love  could  be, 

Never  I  thought 
I  am  part  of  immensity 

And  more  is  evermore  to  be. 
Finer  and  greater  to  be  wrought 

Than  ever  I  thought! 


MORE  AND  HIGHER 


Better  you  come  up  out  of  your  slubber! 

There  's  a  way  to  do, 

One  certain  way  for  you 
Greater  than  dodging  just  to  pout  and  blubber; 
Made,  this  world  is,  to  get  you  going, 

Climbing,  knowing. 


II 


What  thought  is  in  your  dreaming  worth  a  puffin's  puff 

That,  once  you  have  come 

To  chew  and  hum. 
Such  sun-fly  trick  would  make  enough 
Of  purpose  for  life  to  be  giving, 

Your  trick  of  living? 


Ill 


Up  out  of  each  little  peaked  low-life  level 

Have  a  mind  to  rise! 

Look  once  about  your  skies 
How  their  sun-drops  dangle  to  leap  and  revel 
To  tie  new  gold  into  knots  of  blaze, 

Bead  your  days! 

1072 


More  and  Higher  1073 

IV 

How  many  there  are  of  them,  worlds  without  ending, 

Just  to  show  to  you 

Who  are  thinking  them  through 
To  find  what  their  pretty  blink  is  portending, 
How  you,  make  reasoning  what  you  may. 

Mean  more  than  they. 


You  thought  life  an  end  of  something,  the  while  you  knew 

There  is  no  end — 

You  saw  a  man  unbend. 
Saw  him  bow?  Fear  you  to  bow  the  same  way  too 
At  such  new  doorway  to  more  glowing. 

Greater  growing  ? 


VI 


Tree-perch  or  blue  leaf  or  cyclamen  have  a  way 

Of  minding  you,  too. 

There  is  more  of  you 
Than  all  their  new  Beauty  could  try  to  say, 
More  to  tjp  got  at  and  gotten  out 

Than  eye-glad  or  pout. 


VII 


Take  that  man  with  bull-kick  in  his  kindness, 

Pig-knuckles,  they  say. 

And  a  spiderly  way 
Of  biting  hearts  out — take  his  spirit-blindness 
And  pinfish  swallow,  his  gulp  at  a  gnat. 

Soul  of  a  rat, 

68 


I074  More  and  Higher 

VIII 

I  would  say :  there  is  much  for  him  yet  to  do, 

New  worlds,  perhaps, 

Many  a  boost  and  lapse 
Ere  he  come  to  comparison  once  with  you ! 
He  shall  have  his  chance — more  soul  is  to  get, 

Since  all  time  is  yet. 

IX 

I  fight  my  way  up  from  the  thing  below 
I  was  once,  so  small 
In  the  eye-sweep  and  spall 
That  no  way  was  open  but  to  try  to  grow 
To  mightier  measurement,  have  my  day 
And  my  way. 


So  up  I  grew  to  this  largest  waist-size 

Which  a  man  may  span 

By  his  bellyful  plan, 
Yet  I  reach  out  beyond  to  more  widening  skies, 
Since  soul  would  grow  'though  the  skull-power  stop, 

Body  drop. 


XI 


Would  you  think  the  end  of  the  thing  to  be  now 

That  you  see  what  power 

In  life's  closing  last  hour 
Soul  has,  'though  this  body  may  wince  and  bow, 
Power  to  say  "  I  am  greater  than  just 

This  whiff  of  dust?" 


More  and  Higher  1075 

XII 

If  greater,  then  have  I  grown  to  this: 

One  ample  new  sphere, 

Different  from  here, 
That  I  may  come  more  Hke  the  spirit  is; 
More  size,  which  looks  to  more  power  and  space 

In  endless  place. 

XIII 

My  Rosalie — that  was  a  sun-down  day 

Which  crossed  her  hands 

For  two  velvet  white  bands, 
Pressed  out  her  pink  lip  into  blue  cold  clay — 
How  she  was  gone,  so  fair,  so  soon, 

In  her  fine  forenoon! 


XIV 


True,  she  was  greater  than  men  ever  knew, 

As  I  could  see  plain 

By  her  soul-domain 
And  kingdom-face,  eyes  of  heaven's  true  blue 
Like  sun-bubbles,  meant  for  only  one  sweep 

Across  the  deep. 


XV 


I  have  her  to  know  I  must  get  me  to  what 

Was  great  in  her  heart, 

Get  the  sun-burst  part 
And  conquerer-kindness  which  the  world  has  not, 
Before  I  may  kneel  at  her  train, 

Have  her  again. 


1076  More  and  Higher 

XVI 

That  my  stint  and  first  purpose,  so  there  may  be 

Such  new  ripened  change 

In  my  day-crop  range 
That  nothing  may  pass  which  was  meant  for  me, 
Nor  what  shall  have  had  a  least  cost 

Be  baffled  or  lost. 

XVII 

You  may  play  this  game  of  life  as  you  choose — 

Once  you  purpose  clear 

To  confine  it  to  here 
Your  plain  truth  is  this :  you  will  play  to  lose 
If  there  be  no  star-lip  to  respond, 

Nothing  beyond. 

XVIII 

Life  you  may  have,  the  whole  dash  and  fling  of  it, 

If  what  you  get 

In  your  gullet-net 
Be  the  round-up  crop  and  topmost  thing  of  it ! 
Good  it  were  as  harvests  of  a  hearse, 

Sweet  as  a  curse! 

XIX 

The  smallness  of  life,  the  largeness  of  desire 

To  get  to  more  worth 

Than  is  dug  out  of  earth, 
And  what  so  true  a  sign  to  point  you  higher  ? 
The  smallness  of  life,  the  largeness  of  desire 

Mean  more  and  higher. 


NOT  A  WORD 


A  LIGHT  out  of  the  skies 

Lay  in  his  eyes ; 

One  supple  note  to  rejoice 

Mellowed  his  voice ; 

His  thought  he  took  for  others, 

All  men  for  brothers, 

All  things  for  what  was  right, 

Like  a  bunch  of  might. 

And  what  should  he  do 

To  have  her  see 

He  was  royal  true, 

He  was  manful-free 

To  be  his  best, 

His  all  he  was 

By  whatever  test 

Of  a  human  cause? 

What  should  he  do? — 

He  scarce  could  say 

"I  am  royal-true 

As  the  sun-blown  day, 

I  come  to  you 

In  my  royal  way 

Of  integral  soul 

To  be  what  I  may 
1077 


1078  Not  a  Word 

To  compass  the  whole 

High  purpose  of  life 

By  my  human  strife 

In  my  human  day"; 

Nor  he  scarce  could  say 

"Out  of  all  the  rest 

There  is  no  best, 

But  of  all  the  many 

I  'm  perfect  as  any, 

'Though  I  make  no  claim 

To  a  human  name 

For  what  I  have  done 

In  my  little  run 

Under  the  sun"; 

Nor  he  scarce  could  show, 

By  his  to  and  fro. 

What  a  power  he  was 

For  a  human  cause. 

Since  this  muddy  bubble 

Of  trick  and  trouble 

Had  plastered  its  frown 

In  his  noble  crown. 

There  's  my  supple-jack  vine 

Beginning  to  crawl. 

Will  tuck  up  a  tine 

So  tiny  small 

I  wonder  to  see 

Such  soldiery, 

I  wonder  to  know 

How  tendril  or  toe 

Could  battle  so, 

Could  reach  to  climb 

Against  arrow-rime 

Through  smut  and  choke 


Not  a  Word  1079 


By  never  a  stoop 
Till  flowers  awoke 
And  purple  drupe 
For  a  masterstroke, 
And  never  a  word 
Of  a  branch  is  heard. 

II 

How  he  loved  her  too, 
And  she  would  not  yield! 
How  he  gathered  dew 
Of  his  crow-flower  field. 
Little  yellow  beads 
The  peafinch  needs 
To  match  his  eye 
Like  a  dot  of  sky ! — 
There  they  lay  an  hour 
Like  eyes  of  the  flower, 
Let  the  yellow  through 
And  purple  too, 
So  she  could  see 
How  Beauty  will  shine 
Through  a  thistle's  pin, 
Through  fang  or  fin 
Like  a  thing  divine; 
How  Beauty  will  speak 
By  another  power, 
'Though  the  lip  be  weak 
Or  the  life  an  hour. 
Like  the  life  and  cheek 
Of  my  little  flower; 
How  Beauty  will  break 
Into  open  day. 
Nor  a  gain  to  take. 


io8o  Not  a  Word 

Nor  a  word  to  say 

But  "I  am  all  I,        ^ 

Whole  perfect  hope, 

Am  the  lip  and  eye 

Of  your  heliotrope, 

Bloodspots  in  the  healing  moon, 

I  am  each  knell 

Of  your  bell-tree  bell, 

I  'm  the  pink  proud  lap  of  June. ' 

III 

Sudden  she  looked 

Into  each  blue  eye 

Where  his  stars  were  booked 

Like  an  open  sky, 

Could  see  herself  there, 

Spirit  and  limb, 

Fastened  for  fair 

In  the  soul  of  him, 

Claiming  her  share 

Was  the  whole  of  him, 

Once  now  she  saw 

In  the  blue  deep  eyes 

What  answered  for 

Vast  spirit-size, 

Saw  the  great  heart  too 

In  the  perfect  blue, 

Her  sun-like  man 

On  the  Zenith-plan 

Of  power  and  height, 

Of  celestial  right 

She  saw  in  his  eye, 

Heard  in  his  sigh 


Not  a  Word  1081 

She  knew  for  the  whole 
Of  one  perfect  soul — 
Two  souls  now  in  one 
Like  as  sky  and  sun, 
And  never  the  word 
Of  a  lip  was  heard, 
Never  the  touch 
Of  a  Hp  was  such, 
Nor  ever  such  charm 
Of  a  gentle  arm 
Put  its  endless  span 
'Round  the  neck  of  a  man 
As  cheek  to  cheek 
Of  glow  to  glow 
Not  one  could  speak 
For  the  love  of  them  so. 


TRAGEDY 

Now  lie  there, 

Put  your  new  face 

In  its  proper  place, 

Lie  and  die  there, 
Nor  drop  a  word  of  it  you  said 
Which  put  you  fast  in  her  heart  instead 

Of  me,  you  dead ! 

Take  her  hand — 

You  will  not  know 

How  cold  it  is,  so 

Take  the  cold  small  hand, 
Make  the  most  of  it,  forget  your  lust 
To  come  to  quiet  and  be  just. 

You  dust  to  dust ! 

Take  her  lips. 

Swallow  them  now 

For  a  bended  bough 

Of  snow-shod  tips! 
I  will  be  calm,  you  shall  have  your  way 
To  find  how  such  life  has  death  to  pay 

In  coins  of  clay. 

How  was  it 
You  sought  to  crush 
Such  song-mated  thrush 
But  because  it 
1082 


Tragedy  1083 

Pleased  one  hell-whim — you  had  scarce  seen  her 
When  you  must  needs  play  mean  and  meaner, 
Hellish  hyena? 

Touch  her  eyes ! 

They  will  not  look 

Your  way,  nor  once  crook 

Aside  from  her  skies. 
For  see  how  they  stare,  so  hold  your  breath 
Now  her  sweet  night-heart  reasoneth 

From  youth  to  death ! 

What  you  said 

Would  hurt  not  now 

The  beautiful  brow 

Is  white  as  dead, 
Out  of  reach  of  you  to  hurt  again. 
So  run  your  tongue  out  to  lick  off  the  stain 

Since  breath  is  vain. 

Did  you  feel 

One  stinging  end, 

One  whip  of  the  bend 

Of  my  cold  steel? 
She  died  by  your  hand,  you  by  mine; 
Small  use  for  either  of  us  to  whine 

At  her  decline ! 

I  follow, 

So  runs  your  log^ 

Follow  you,  you  dog, 

For  one  swallow 
Of  your  portion — we  will  make  it  right 
In  another  kind  of  day  and  night 

Just  out  of  sight. 


1084  Tragedy 

There  was  gain 
For  you,  you  thought, 
Was  not  to  be  bought 
By  swink  or  pain, 
As  if  you  hoped  by  your  choppy  nods 
At  cheat,  in  a  little  game  of  sods, 
To  trick  the  Gods! 

Your  one  creed 

Was  come  to  this, 

That  you  should  not  miss, 

For  want  of  greed. 
One  pimpernel  you  could  tear  in  two, 
One  finch  to  smash  the  red  heart  through 

For  joy  to  you. 

Life  was  lust 

For  you  to  get, 

Nor  one  mignonette, 

One  plum-leaf  gust 
Were  worth  your  while  to  labor  for! 
You  knew  a  way  to  hoodwink  Law 

By  rule  of  claw! 

Life  was  hope 

For  you  and  me 

To  live  it  to  see 

One  wide  high  scope 
Of  opportunity  to  make  most 
Of  what  there  was  of  us,  play  host 

Instead  of  ghost. 

You  thought  not ! 
Hell  was  to  pay 
In  your  kind  of  way, 
Filth  to  be  got. 


Tragedy  1085 


A  wren  to  ruin  to  scatter  about, 
Life  to  be  laughed  at  and  puffed  out 
'Twixt  flip  and  pout. 

No  escape! 

Your  time  shall  come, 

Your  tap  of  a  drum 

To  dig  and  scrape 
And  knuckle  to  it  to  wheel  about 
To  learn  how  you  were  not  made  to  flout 

This  soul-face  out. 

Heaven  knows 

You  scorned  your  best 

As  one  with  the  rest 

Where  spirit  grows 
Which  gave  you  your  chance  to  make  your  way 
To  somewhat  higher  than  this  day 

Of  animal  play. 

And  if  so 

You  made  the  best 

Of  your  filthy  breast 

To  trip  and  go, 
So  comes  there  law  to  be  put  good, 
One  law  of  a  better  brotherhood 

Than  your  dog-mood. 

Boys  were  we 

In  those  fair  days 

At  our  play-ground  plays 

Which  come  to  me 
To  choke  the  soul  of  me  out  of  speech, 
To  hang  my  heart  up  to  stop  and  bleach. 

Friend  out  of  reach ! 


io86  Tragedy 

Straight  to  you 

I  go  in  my  prime 

And  my  love-day  time 

The  same  way  too, 
For  this:  We  must  work  it  out  some  way 
In  another  kind  of  night  and  day, 

As  she  would  say. 

Three  were  we 

In  life,  my  friend. 

To  this  bitter  end, 

I,  you  and  she; 
What  I  would  hope  is,  now  all  is  done. 
Now  this  poor  phaze  of  us  has  had  its  run, 

We  yet  may  be  one. 


CHARLOTTE 

CHARLOTTE-wise  was  her  way — 

I  knew  Charlotte's  ways, 
The  thing  she  had  to  say 

Full  of  kind-worded  praise, 
The  thing  she  went  to  do 

For  her  thought  of  you: 

"This  flower  out  of  my  hat, 

See,  I  give  it  you 
For  the  water  blue 

You  were  looking  at. 
And  this  vine  you  liked 

Where  the  grapes  are  spiked  I 

"Take  the  flowers,  I  pray  of  you! 

They  are  not  real,  so  they  will  last 
Beyond  my  garden-grape  of  blue 

Which  I  but  yesterday  picked  for  you 
And,  lo,  the  lip  of  it  is  past 

With  scarce  a  little  taste  of  dew! 

"They  come  and  go,  the  wild  flowers  do, 
Stay  their  short  while  just  as  you, 

Bow  their  way  out  like  you  too; 

But  take  these  rye-rods  in  my  bonnet. 

All  as  if  they  grew  there  on  it. 

They  will  not  die  as  the  rye-fields  do. 
1087 


io88  Charlotte 

"This  flower  which  came  of  moon  and  shade, 
Meant  one  certain  day  to  fade, 

Looks  to  me  out  of  such  moon-beam  eye 
Between  velvet  and  diamond  dye 

As  knew  once  the  cHmbing  sky, 

So  knows  a  way  and  a  day  on  high. 

"  Mark  my  Japonica  pot, 

So  too  this  mehlot 
Now  the  clean  sun  sizzles 

Where  the  dew  drizzles 
Till  I  pluck  one  handful,  blue 

As  the  quill- work  of  a  cockatoo! 

"There  's  the  needleful  of  dew, 

There  's  the  heavenful  of  flame, 

But  what  of  this  spot  of  blue, 

Of  where  it  goes,  of  whence  it  came? 

Is  there  orange  blossom  or  blue 
Plays  outside  the  soul  in  you? 

"Look  you  once  again 

To  this  sombre  rain: 
Never  a  drop  of  it  dropped  in  vain ! 

Sky  gave  it,  sky  knows  the  knack 
To  take  it  back 

Ever  and  forever  again. 

"So  I  see  my  blue  and  my  red 

Always  in  yonder  sky 
Where  nothing  is  ever  dead, 

Whence  nothing  has  ever  fled, 
Where  every  world  is  high 

And  gold-mannered,  of  blazing  eye. " 


Charlotte  1089 

"Ah,"  I  said,  "my  Charlotte  friend, 

There  's  all  Beauty  to  no  end 
Which  I  see  in  your  constant  Heaven 

Sprinkles  dew-light  or  bold  leven, 
Yet  once  I  look,  and  your  eyes  such  blue, 

I  see  all  Heaven  in  the  soul  of  you. " 


69 


A  BRAS  OUVERTS 

See  earth  put  patient  arms  up 

Above  flower  or  fruit-dropping  valley-cup 

In  mountains  towards  the  skies! 

Look  how  they  fine  to  rise, 

Drop  off  dust  below, 

Take  less  hold  of  here 

As  they  approach  the  clear 

Till  clay  goes  robed  in  snow 

Whose  jewelled  crystal  finger  runs 

The  path  above  a  million  suns! 

And  if  the  hills  would  flee. 

Then  why  not  we. 

Once  the  upshot  hour  is  come, 

Once  the  moon-birds  peal  and  drum 

Sonnetry  'round  Elysium? 


1090 


THE  SYLPH  SELF 

Have  fancy,  just  to  my  liking, 

The  dash  of  a  viking; 

Have  power,  most  to  my  longing, 

Dream  dreaming  and  songing; 

Make  much  of  it,  each  little  prop  of  an  ear 

To  the  rear 
To  listen  for  men,  to  know  if  they  follow — 
How  poor  the  whole  of  it,  how  hollow, 
Seeing  the  leaping  heart  of  me  flew 

To  you,  only  you! 

Put  gainfulness  first — there  's  the  error 

Which  holds  men  in  terror; 

Settle  what  first  best  to  have  is 

The  lip  of  a  mavis. 

Flounce  of  the  elm  in  purple  summer. 

Or  rummer 
Of  melony  muscadine,  otto  of  roses — 
One  true  thing  the  whole  of  it  shows  is 
How  not  the  sweet  best  that  you  grew 

Was  you,  fairly  you. 

The  brain  of  you  thumping,  knowing. 
The  heart  of  you  glowing 
For  thought  which  is  manly  supreme 
As  a  skylighted  dream, 

1091 


1092  The  Sylph  Self 

For  power  which  could  circle  a  Saturn  of  rings, 

Muzzle  kings, 
While  what  of  it  when  it  is  done  and  ended 
More  than  one  sunburst,  a  moment  splendid? 
What  is  the  whole  great  first  you  may  do 

But  an  inkling  of  you? 

Hand  at  the  helm  for  holding 

A  world  to  your  moulding ; 

Your  luck-pot  life,  the  gold  proud  feather 

Of  pink-ended  weather 

To  write  you  a  name  across  sheets  of  sky 

Not  to  die; 
To  put  breath  panting  between  your  poet-pages 
To  burn  on  the  lips  of  all  men  for  all  ages 
Were  nothing  to  me — I  claimed  what  I  knew 

To  be  soul,  which  is  you. 

Suppose  this,  suppose  you  never     • 
Were  half  an  eye  clever,  , 

Full  poor  in  spirit,  not  knowing 
The  gain-way  for  growing  ,^ 

An  eye  to  pierce  or  lip  to  elate 

Race  or  State, 
Would  there  be  the  less  of  you  in  behind? 
Is  soul  just  blood-hungry  parlor-trick  mind, 
While  the  heart  in  me,  all  that  is  true, 

Goes  longing  for  you  ? 

So,  when  the  end  is,  I  fashion 
An  end  of  all  passion. 
An  end  of  this  circle-kick  thinking, 
Of  dozing  and  winking ; 
I  fashion  two  white  hands  made  into  a  cross 
Above  the  corse. 


The  Sylph  Self  1093 

Like  the  unknown  X,  not  a  sign  of  nothing, 
But  of  value  to  find,  a  new  betrothing, 
And  I  clasp,  through  the  gold  and  blue, 
Just  soul — that  is  you. 


GAMBLERS 

Cock  a  bottle  at  the  game, 

Slip  the  leash  to  let  the  cork  spit  out 

One  small  hiss  of  flame 

For  you  to  set  fire  to  him — no  doubt 

How  you  meant  to  handle  him  now 

That  last  card  of  yours  would  teach  him  how 

To  whiten  to  make  you  his  low  last  bow. 

Your  tricks  at  him — what  of  that? 

You  ducked  his  brain  in  your  bath  of  fire ! 

You  bite  like  a  rat 

With  venom  sweetened  to  one  desire 

To  pick  his  white  throat  up  in  your  paws, 

Only  a  gnat  in  a  spider's  claws 

For  the  blood  in  him,  your  whole  hellish  cause. 

Oh,  so  he  took  his  chance 

To  play  you  back  and  the  thing  was  fair 

To  a  circumstance! 

Fair  to  him,  no  doubt — he  took  his  care — 

But  to  you,  how  stands  the  case  with  you 

And  your  jaw  put  back  to  bite  him  through? 

Does  the  game  play  equally  fair  by  you? 

One  of  your  weak  ones  was  he. 
Like  a  water-lip  pouts  to  curl  and  break 
At  whims  of  the  sea; 

You  had  him  fast,  there  was  gold  to  take, 
1094 


Gamblers  1095 

A  wren  to  be  chopped  in  your  china  jaws 
Now  you  knew  your  man  how  light  he  was 
For  you  to  snap  Hke  a  whip  of  straws. 

His  gold  was  there — all  was  his — 

He  came  to  it  by  life's  troubled  swink, 

Which  has  come  to  this, 

That  you  must  have  it  now  as  you  think 

What  his  life  was  worth,  what  yours  is  not, 

So  by  putting  his  shekels  in  your  pot 

You  pump  in  his  shoes  full  aliquot. 

But  do  you? — one  look  to  that: 

He  took  his  chances,  he  paid  your  price 

You  pummel  at. 

His  soul  gulped  up  by  a  cockatrice. 

His  life  and  gold  too,  with  all  he  had 

Of  conflict  in  him  to  drive  him  mad 

In  such  poor  trip-up  from  good  to  bad. 

The  gain  is  to  you — but  look, 

Your  loss  there,  your  soul-drop-out  loss 

I  saw  as  you  took, 

The  best  of  you  gone,  the  man  that  was, 

Your  knuckle-work  put  to  nicking,  so 

You  think  you  can  let  your  best  part  go 

To  keep  on  winning  and  thinking  so ! 

He  tried  to  get  your  ducats,  too — 

That  I  acknowledge,  so  was  he  small; 

Be  it  that,  would  you 

Not  say  he  paid  for  it  overall, 

For  you  there  you  have  his  life  and  gold 

Which,  mark  me,  will  one  day  slip  your  hold 

When  you  seek  him  in  the  dark  and  cold 


1096  Gamblers 

To  put  him  right  again — you 

To  hand  him  back  both  his  life  and  soul 

So  no  part  work  askew 

To  put  up  one  rounded  finest  whole, 

And  you  must  square  it  with  him,  my  friend; 

Small  matter  how  you  trick  to  bend, 

You  '11  square  it  with  him  in  the  end. 

But  you,  would  you  think  the  game 

Has  served  you  right,  'twixt  him  and  you, 

That  you  have  no  claim 

On  yourself  to  take  this  plainest  view 

Of  the  thing,  that  you  be  once  put  back 

Where  you  were  before  you  toed  about  track 

To  play  him  such  fellish  hellish  knack? 

Once  he  put  shoulder  to  the  wheel. 

One  wheel  of  fortune  to  make  his  way, 

Had  value  to  deal; 

Your  card  was  blank  as  popinjay. 

Yet  you  played  it  fate-first,  took  your  lick 

At  subterfuges,  took  your  pick. 

Just  by  one  puny  devilish  trick 

Which  turned  the  tables  that  night, 

Tumbled  his  fortune  into  your  lap 

Against  God  and  right, 

His  throat  made  fast  in  your  finger-trap 

For  you  to  play  with — what  shall  it  be, 

All  a  loss  to  him  eternally 

And  you  full  man-blown? — let  us  see: 

The  thing  was  this  way,  I  vouch: 

You  prowled  about  with  gluttonous  eye 

And  an  empty  pouch 

To  pluck  him  before  your  day  went  by; 


Gamblers  1097 

Now  mark  me  this  once  again,  my  friend, 
For  one  truth  on  which  you  may  depend, 
'T  is  you  have  been  plucked  to  the  ruffled  end, 

For  what  has  a  man  to  show 

But  the  man  in  him,  the  soul-made  man, 

And  whether  or  no 

He  prosper  by  the  worldish  plan. 

Since  here  is  the  what-of-it  clean  through 

Which  you  may  hold  fast  for  one  thing  true, 

Not  this  whole  life  is  a  grain  of  you. 

Since  well  I  know  how  a  man 

Is  more  than  the  thing  he  sees  or  seeks 

By  his  one- world  plan 

To  count  his  life  out  in  days  and  weeks, 

More  than  the  blue  breath  he  has  lost 

By  bee-bite  or  by  fist  of  frost — 

More  is  a  man  than  his  world  has  cost. 

So  shall  you  put  yourself  whole 

To  keep  you  so,  since  the  one  sure  game 

Of  body  and  soul 

Is  to  get  one  manfuUest  man,  the  same 

As  a  lime-bush  puts  new  tongues  in  quest 

Of  sky-shine,  blue  dew  and  the  rest 

To  hand  you  one  citron,  the  very  best. 

Put  your  gold  down,  take  him  up 

Who  lies  there  now,  two  lips  as  white 

As  plum-flower  cup, 

For  your  long  hard  task  to  put  him  right 

Now  he  waits — one  hand  there  seems  to  grope 

At  his  brow  like  a  fork  of  heliotrope 

For  one  more  grasp  at  life  and  hope ! 


MY  WREN 

Where  now  is  my  leaping  wren 

That  is  gone  out  of  his  emerald  field, 

May  be  to  never  come  again 

Where  bottle-flower  and  stagger-bush  yield 

Such  forest  of  ravishment, 

Such  purple  heart,  saffron  scent? 

His  last  note  I  heard 

Was  as  the  wind  in  an  evening  sky 
About  to  fly  away  to  die. 

Was  as  that  pale-faced  word 
Which  I  thought  he  said — good-bye! 

Was  he  too  gone  away  to  die? 

Pretty  little  perfect  bird 

In  his  whole  waste  of  sky 
Where  only  silence  stirred, 

And  what  was  of  him  to  die 
Save  his  streaked  pongee-peak 

Of  feather,  or  his  tattooed  cheek? 

His  song — from  nothing  did  it  come, 

To  nothing  is  it  gone 
As  night  winds  between  shingles  drum 

And  whistle  and  they  pass  on? 
Look  the  wild  spaces  by  all  your  care 

There  's  no  "nothing"  anywhere. 
1098 


My  Wren  1099 

Once  by  his  brook  he  stood 

To  watch  his  image  just  below, 
While  coax  it  as  he  would, 

The  shadow  would  not  come  nor  go 
Nor  sing  nor  sigh — that  way  I  think 

Soul  is,  just  over  the  brink. 

One  noon-moon  he  was  singing 

In  his  plum-field,  each  note 
Made  such  a  silver  ringing 

As  never  a  soul  could  quote 
As  up  through  his  pile  of  dark 

Flashed  his  song  like  a  spirit-spark. 

Or  over  by  my  meadow  wall 

How  I  could  hear  him  call 
As  if  to  draw  me  his  way 

To  get  what  he  had  to  say 
Out  of  such  divinity  of  heart, 

Watch  how  fine  he  played  his  part ! 

Did  winds  in  tree-tops  gong 

To  interrupt  his  song. 
Quick  would  he  leap  to  tune 

His  key  in  keeping,  tilt  his  rune 
To  the  rhapsody  of  noon 

Long  as  his  day  was  long. 

Do  so  many  days  go  by 

That  I  forget,  or  I  cannot  tell 
One  note  now  of  your  threnody 

That  last  day  you  sang  farewell? 
What  an  outrider,  how  you  went 

To  make  your  nest  in  the  firmament! 


iioo  My  Wren 

Always  have  I  thought 

What  a  Httle  body  you, 
Yet  what  soul  you  brought, 

Left  it  with  me  too 
That  day  I  was  your  guest 

And  you  did  your  best 

To  tell  me  more  than  I  knew, 
Your  voice  of  a  far-ofif  land 

And  I  looked  and  listened,  while  you 

Took  slight  hold  with  your  tiny  hand 

In  your  yew-branch,  as  if  to  show 

You  knew  such  nobler  way  to  go. 

Will  you  come  back  to  me? 

May  be  never  so! 
More  is  to  think  of  and  see 

Your  unending  way  you  go 
Through  storm  and  moonbreak  and  dark 

With  your  harp  of  the  lark. 

Now  I  follow  you  to  look 

Out  on  the  way  you  took 

Beyond  your  yew-nest  and  picture-brook 
For  more  than  ever  I  knew, 

Out  in  your  eternity  of  blue, 

Where  one  day  I  shall  go  to  you. 


ELLA  AND  STELLA 


So  you  think  your  way  of  doing 

Is  the  best, 
To  get  what  most  you  can  and  to  never  mind  the  rest 

And  their  ruing, 
So  you  rise  to  power  and  plunder 
And  the  other  there  goes  under ! 


II 


One  moment,  try  a  Httle  thinking, 

Half  a  wit 
Will  find,  I  think,  one  fatal  law  there  just  in  back  of  it 

To  put  you  blinking. 
Neither  God  nor  man  nor  nation, 
But  the  nature  of  creation. 


Ill 


Here  is  one  example  for  showing, 

Wholly  true, 
How  what  you  yield  for  love  of  right  comes  all  back  to  you 

Without  your  knowing. 
Not  by  way  of  compensation, 
Just  the  nature  of  creation. 


II02  Ella  and  Stella 

IV 

Not  once  I  thought  of  marrying — 
Half  and  half 

To  make  one  whole  so  others  should  have  a  chance  to  laugh- 
So  I  was  tarrying 

To  think  I  could  trick  the  kingdom 

Of  love  in  its  endless  Springdom. 


Ella  was  true,  but  there  was  Stella 

Firmly  bent 
That  I  should  give  myself  to  her,  heart  and  soul  intent, 

Make  haste  to  tell  her 
If  I  loved  her — she  was  pretty 
As  a  pear-flower,  more  's  the  pity 

VI 

Since  Ella  nowise  had  her  Beauty,    ' 

Could  not  boast 
Such  cherry  laugh,  purple  eye  as  most  men  fancy  most, 

But  just  plain  duty. 
Love  of  right  and  one  wild  passion 
To  be  honest  and  out  of  fashion. 

VII 

Yet  her  love  of  me,  I  knew  it. 

Was  as  great 
As  was  Stella's,  but  modest,  would  linger  and  come  late, 

For  so  she  shew  it 
By  taking  leave,  always  going 
So  her  friend  could  have  first  showing ! 


Ella  and  Stella  1103 

VIII 

Stella  took  another  way  of  thinking, 

As  you  see 
By  how  she  held  her  ground,  meant  to  keep  her  hold  of  me, 

No  kind  of  shrinking, 
Her  truth  this :  Secure  your  inning, 
Life  's  a  game  and  worth  the  winning. 

IX 

Ella,  of  herself  never  thinking 

To  an  end, 
Would  pull  her  own  hope  down  to  put  hope  up  for  a  friend — 

I  found  her  sinking 
Her  whole  self  out  of  sight  by  trying 
To  save  another  heart-ache,  sighing. 


Like  that  day  she  came  to  me  for  saying. 

All  her  might. 
What  a  sweet  girl  Stella  was,  how  true  she  was  and  bright — 

Not  once  betraying 
Her  love  of  me,  but  only  pleading 
Her  friend's  cause,  no  other  heeding. 

XI 

Next  day  came  Stella  just  to  show  me, 

For  my  sake, 
That  for  me  to  think  of  Ella  would  be  one  vast  mistake, 

Tried  to  show  me 
She  was  cold,  could  not  love  me. 
Or  she  thought  herself  above  me. 


II04  Ella  and  Stella 

XII 

So,  once  I  saw  for  plain  how  Ella, 

At  a  glance. 
Would  shun  me  just  to  give  her  friend  the  better  chance, 

I  sought  to  tell  her, 
(It  was  honest  I  should  tell  her) 
I  could  no  way  care  for  Stella, 

XIII 

Since  now  the  fact  was  just  her  praises 

Of  her  friend 
Drew  me  to  Ella,  as  a  bee  will  drop  to  bend 

Among  his  daises — 
Ella  was  all  love  of  duty, 
I  was  fastened  by  such  Beauty! 

XIV 

So  I  loved,  so  was  I  captured, 

So  I  swear, 
I  could  give  soul  and  body  to  die  for  her  right  there 

— Captured  and  raptured — 
Yet  she  never  could  see  really 
Why  I  loved  her  and  so  dearly. 

XV 

Just  her  love-of-duty  Beauty 

With  its  power 
Could  win  me,  could  hold  me  to  close  me  like  a  flower, 

Just  Spirit-Beauty — 
There  's  the  subtle  domination 
And  nature  of  creation. 


FOR  LOVE 

To  arms  for  a  ring  of  your  steel, 

Spring  of  your  heel ! 
A  word  and  a  blow,  my  man, 

For  a  country's  need 

To  cut  and  bleed, 
There  's  the  ring  of  your  glory-plan! 

Belt  you  your  belt 

To  the  naked  pelt ; 

Tuck  knife  and  shot 

For  love  of  God 

In  the  killing-slot ! 

Would  you  win  me  my  way, 

You  shall  throttle  to  rip 
The  red  rose  out  of  a  brother-lip, 

Have  havoc  to  pay ! 

To  horse  for  a  wing  of  your  zeal, 

Sting  of  your  heel ! 
Front  you  your  front  to  arms,  to  horse 

For  a  way  to  will, 

A  day  to  kill, 
There  's  the  core  of  a  conqueror's  cause! 

Shoulders  to  march 

Under  gold  blue  arch; 

Buttons  for  pomp, 

High  love  of  hell 
H05 


iio6  For  Love 

And  the  slaughter-romp! 
A  woman's  to  win, 
And  the  trick  is  this, 
To  let  not  one  cat-eye  bullet  miss 
The  death-march  in. 

Cut  loose  for  power  to  abet, 

Glory  to  get ! 
What  way  else  could  you  come  a  man 

Of  the  eagle-swoop 

And  talon-scoop 
To  make  for  power  on  the  killing  plan? 

Buttons  for  gold 

And  heart  as  cold ! 

Drum  and  bassoon 

And  bugle-pitch 

To  a  coffin-tune! 

Am  I  to  be  won 

And  you  stop  at  cost? 
What  'though  the  whole  of  a  world  be  lost 

If  love  be  done! 

Strike  fire  for  tongues  to  your  sword 
So  God  be  heard! 

Pledge  me  your  pledge  to  cut  and  kill 
To  carve  you  a  name 
In  gunfire  fame 

For  God's  good  hope  and  his  Kingdom  still! 
Conscience  to  rest 
And  the  better  breast; 
Death  to  all  heart 
And  your  love  of  man — 
There  's  the  hero-plan! 


For  Love  1107 

A  gun-crop  creed, 

Your  creed  of  the  wise, 
That  worlds  are  builded  on  sacrifice! 
What  more  's  to  need? 

Here  's  to  death,  that  love  may  rest 

In  one  new  breast ! 
Here  's  to  love,  that  death  may  reap 

More  love  to  spread 

Above  the  dead 
So  I  have  you  in  my  bosom-keep 

For  love  like  this: 

A  tooth  and  kiss 

For  a  gorgon's  gust, 

The  white  fang-bite 

Of  a  tiger's  lust 

And  I  am  through ! 

What  matters  the  dead, 
Or  what  new  worlds  were  born  to  be  bled 

So  I  have  you? 

To  the  strong  the  race — to  the  weak 

The  white  cold  cheek ! 
Made  was  this  world  for  more  world-power 

To  make  him  king 

Who  could  bite  and  sting 
His  way  like  a  lynx  to  the  harvest-hour 

To  reap  his  most 

Out  of  flesh  and  ghost, 

Prove  him  the  man 

By  a  heart  of  steel 

On  the  hero-plan! 

Is  it  not  God's  way, 

Power  to  bend 


iio8  For  Love 

That  all  should  yield  to  power  in  the  end, 
Death  and  decay? 

This  rose,  tuck  it  inside  your  hilt — 
The  lips  will  wilt 

While  the  stain  will  stay — one  deep  rud 
Of  pluck  in  the  jaw 
Of  all  killing-law 

For  sign  to  you,  like  a  spot  of  blood, 
To  die  so  you  see 
What  death  should  be 
Which  may  not  speak. 
Like  a  man  should  die 
With  power  in  his  cheek — 
Or,  better,  you  kill 
Your  man,  I  say! 

All  wealth  to  him  who  can  cut  to  slay 
By  God's  sweet  will! 

By  this  shall  you  win  me  to  wed. 

Nor  count  the  dead; 
One  sweet  law,  God  made  it  so, 

For  means  of  grace 

To  en-soul  a  race, 
All  power  to  power,  and  the  weak  must  go! 

My  arms  to  a  kink 

Of  the  elbow-pink, 

My  red  lips  you  know 

And  keen  hot  heart 

For  one  bosom-glow 

To  be  yours,  I  vouch, 

So  you  cut  your  way 
By  havocy  death  to  a  bridal-day 

And  conqueror's  couch! 


UNDER  SNOW 

Deepen  the  snow  on  her, 
Now  her  peace  has  been  spoken, 
Now  the  dark  path  below  has  been  broken; 
She  for  whom  faith  spread  so  little, 
From  whom  love  plucked  so  little, 
So  very  little! 

Let  the  flakes  near  to  her. 
Her  new  sisters  flounced  in  white 
To  tumble  from  Heaven  into  pits  of  night; 
All  'round  and  near  her  let  them  lie, 
Thin  frozen  friends,  how  low  they  fly. 
How  fast  they  die ! 

Would  you  fashion  her  dead 
There,  nothing  there  under  the  snow, 
Or  dropped  as  the  just  drop,  gone  as  they  go? 
Hark  how  these  lapsing  snow-flakes  sigh. 
Deeper  by  far  than  doubt's  low  cry, 
"Nothing  to  die!/' 

What  wild  anathema 
To  burst  such  thunder  from  a  grave 
Which  could  not  clutch  what  were  not  there  to  save, 
Sovereigns  of  earth  in  spirit  stole, 
Love,  sorrow,  wisdom,  and  the  whole 
To  shape  a  soul ! 
1109 


mo  Under  Snow 

Nothing  to  die?     And  yet 
Heaven  is  just,  each  heart  must  crave 
Somewhat  still  statelier  across  the  grave; 
While  I,  who  see  not,  may  not  know 
What  eyeless  other  flowers  will  blow 
Under  the  snow. 

What  'though  her  heart  were  poor? 
'Twas  all  she  had,  all  that  Heaven 
To  her  in  her  few  days  had  ever  given ; 
So  much  the  larger  grew  her  trust 
That  Heaven  would  call  her  from  the  dust, 
And  Heaven  is  just ! 

So  lay  her  gently  there, 
In  keeping  of  this  white  pure  night, 
Folded  in  arms  of  frozen  light! 
Soft  be  thy  farewell,  soft  and  slow, 
Thy  last  whisper  kind  and  low — 
Deepen  the  snow. 


PICKTHANK  AND  PRUDENCE 
Extravaganza 

About  Pickthank  I  must  tell  you  somewhat, 

What  he  is,  what  he  is  not; 
What  he  is  I  could  tell  in  a  jiffy; 

What  he  is  not  you  would  have  to  give  me 
Such  wagon-load  of  days  to  tell 

My  story  must  lose  half  its  spell. 
The  look  of  him  is  the  look  about 

Of  knowledge,  nowl  left  out; 
One  level  gaze,  glass-eye  style. 

To  squint  an  inch  and  miss  a  mile; 
Plumb-jointed,  and  that  king-born  cut 

Of  comeliness  and  cock-robin  strut 
Would  shame  Apollo  Belvedere 

To  see  him  pirouette  and  peer 
As  if  almightiness  were  near ; 

Flash  in  him  to  let  you  think 
Skylight  bounded  from  his  wink; 

One  topaz  at  his  knuckles  to  leak 
Light  out  like  a  lemon's  cheek. 

As  if  too  sour  at  heart  to  speak; 
Puffing  gum-bucket  at  his  mouth 

As  if  he  courted  and  sported  drouth ; 
Let  the  tree-swallow  once  be  heard, 

And  truth  is — you  have  my  word — 


II 12  Pickthank  and  Prudence 

He  '11  rip  the  regions  out  of  the  bird; 

Once  let  his  man-match  hatch  a  cough 
With  growl  in  it  or  little  scoflf, 

He  '11  take  the  great  gallop  to  be  off! 
If  you  say  water  is  meant  to  flow, 

He  is  sure  to  say  you  no 
To  prove  how  he  can  flap  and  crow; 

Under  his  bella-sombra  tree 
To  take  his  ease  lord-sumptuously, 

And  the  devil  might  take  you  or  me; 
The  world  he  sizes  by  his  stick, 

He  is  born  to  have  his  lick, 
Success  is  just  a  devilish  trick. 

So  he  is  preordained  to  win 
By  cunning  and  his  pretty  shin, 

Bull-brag  and  topaz-pin! 

Prudence  is  a  girl 

Of  the  elfin  cheek  and  curl 
And  superabounding  eyes 

Of  high  light  and  deep  skies 
With  which  she  looks  her  part 

She  plays  without  an  art, 
For  life  goes  leaping  from  her  heart. 

Gentle  she  is  and  so  true 
Her  sweet  way  she  looks  to  you 

Out  of  confidence  just. 
You  give  her  your  whole  heart  and  trust, 

You  go  with  her  because  you  must. 
Look  there  to  the  mountain-side 

Where  flowers  gambol  and  bees  hide 
In  fly-leaf,  bush-babblers  sing 

For  joy  just,  and  heaven  is  king — 
There  she  goes  between  thistle-fur 


Pickthank  and  Prudence  1113 

And  song-brook  among  summer-stir 
So  you  cannot  tell  them  apart  from  her! 

Now  the  fennel  is  in  leaf, 
Now  this  month  begins  to  sing, 

She  is  closest  to  her  reef 
Of  moss-rock,  is  carolling 

Like  a  Untie  full  of  spring. 
When  comes  her  Pickthank  lover  along, 

Cuts  her  thought  short  and  her  song 
With— 

Pickthank 

You  will  do  well 

To  think  well  of  me. 
Take  me  for  spell, 

For  belamy. 
Seeing  I  am  what  I  am. 

Nor  an  intermix  of  sham, 
Mightied  to  be  ultra-true, 

Minded  to  look  eons  through, 
Hearted  to  be  one  with  you. 

To  make  my  way  upon  earth 
Only  by  my  wealth  of  worth. 

For  so  you  do  certainly  see 
I  am  more  than  men  as  they  go. 

More  than  they  could  try  to  be, 
More  than  they  could  hope  to  know! 

Look  to  my  Apollo-make, 
Phoibos  Apollo  they  speak  me  now; 

See  what  caracole  I  take 
To  sidle  and  make  my  bow 

As  never  man  in  the  world  knew  how ; 
What  shoulder  to  what  a  turn; 

How  my  jacket-buttons  burn 


1 1 14  Pickthank  and  Prudence 

Like  rockets  in  a  new  cpergne! 

Taste  is  mine,  by  Heaven  it  is, 
And  artful,  and  more  than  this, 

I  make  my  target,  hit  or  miss! 
Genius  is  mine,  I  know  the  cHck 

And  whistle  of  his  baiHwick, 
As  this  much  I  understand, 

'T  is  genius  not  to  show  your  hand! 
Men  have  wondered  I  could  be 

So  much  pure  prosperity 
Never  once  to  know  a  want. 

Never  yet  to  go  askaunt. 
Never,  too,  to  make  a  vaunt! 

I  've  a  way  of  knowing  how, 
I  've  a  way  of  knowing  what. 

So  I  'm  nothing  lacking  now 
I  have  only  you  for  thought. 

If  only  I  had  you  for  life, 
If  only  I  had  you  for  wife ! 

Prudence 

Being  so  much 

As  you  say  you  are 
For  women  to  grutch, 

Men  to  par; 
Being  so  all 

Of  what  there  is, 
Women  look  small 

For  you  to  miss! 
What  gift  have  I 

To  match  with  you 
Who  match  the  sky 

And  this  world  too 


Pickthank  and  Prudence  1115 

As  hangs  the  hawk 

'Twixt  fire  and  dew 
Only  to  fork 

The  wind  to  clew 
His  wing  to  stalk 

The  breathless  blue? 
So  great  are  you 

Beyond  my  sphere 
I  bow  to  you, 

I  hark  and  peer 
To  get  your  true 

New  whisper  clear; 
To  look  to  you 

As  I  look  high 
As  Yed  to  view 

Your  frame  of  sky — 
So  here  is  this  truth  for  you  to  see, 

As  truth  it  is  and  you  must  agree: 
You  are  too  matchless  good  for  me ! 


Pickthank 

Ah,  but  yourself  you  overlook! 

Ourselves  we  are  not  to  see; 
Sapphire  is  in  this  iris  juke. 

Iris  in  every  romping  bee, 
Which  only  I  have  an  eye  to  see. 

In  my  tree-tower  my  lark  is  free 
To  lift  his  soul  like  a  God  in  glee. 

Yet  is  his  soul  not  a  breath  of  thee. 
Watch  your  necklace-bird  in  his  wings 

Where  gold  nestles  and  the  pink  edge  clings 
Like  royalty  'round  the  hearts  of  kings, 


iii6  Pickthank  and  Prudence 

What  count  his  hundred  dyes 
Matched  with  your  soul  which  men  call  eyes — 

Are  they  not  only  inverted  skies, 
Wholly  the  image  of  Paradise? 

Watch  the  thousand  lips  on  a  river 
Spit  fire  and  dance  and  sliver 

As  if  the  sun  had  emptied  his  quiver — 
While  you  watch,  the  same  sun  dips, 

Yet  adds  never  blush  to  your  perfect  lips. 
Over  you  as  worlds  are  high 

Floats  your  larger  other  sky 
Of  soul-superiority; 

Your  eyes  took  the  blue  which  is  there, 
Your  cheek  took  the  pink  for  its  share. 

Your  brow  the  white  of  the  whited  air, 
Yet  as  atoms  look  they  are  small 

Beside  your  heart  to  which  I  call. 
Your  soul  which  flies  beyond  them  all. 

Here  goes  our  flower-bee  in  his  field 
Just  to  get  the  summer-yield — 

See,  he  will  snuggle  his  nest 
Where  sun  snuggles  and  clover  is  best. 

Just  as  he  will  line  his  path 
Into  afternoon  for  the  lap  it  hath 

Of  guava  and  lemon  bath 
Only  to  pump  at  what  sweet 

Lies  hidden  in  a  thistle's  teat 
To  rise  high  up  to  hover  » 

Well  above  rue  or  soolaclover. 
Thereso  it  is  I  put  you  there 

Beyond  in  the  supernatural  air 
To  hover  perfect  and  everywhere 

As  light  does  and  I  see  not  whence 
It  comes,  or  whither  it  goeth  hence. 


Pickthank  and  Prudence  1117 

Till  you  are  like  all  light  which  kings 
The  universal  wanderings 

Of  atoms  to  sparkle  them  through, 
Touch  them  with  your  Heaven  of  blue 

So  they  may  share  your  Heaven  with  you. 
Atom  am  I,  all  the  light  are  you 

To  lend  me  of  your  sky  of  blue 
That  I  may  share  your  Heaven  with  you. 

Prudence 

Am  I  so  much 

As  you  say  I  am, 
Nought  like  me  such 

In  the  diagram 
Of  worlds  I  see, 

No  star  like  me — 
Am  I  like  light 

To  reign  above 
Supernal  flight. 

Human  love, 
To  take  my  place 

Where  the  blue  sky  sits 
Beyond  your  chase 

Of  baffled  wits- 
Do  I  hold  to  what 

Is  power  in  me 
You  question  not,      l 

My  supremacy 
Of  heart  and  soul 

To  play  my  role 
Above  mink  or  bole, 

Then  is  this  truth  for  you  to  see, 
As  truth  it  is  and  you  must  agree: 

I  am  too  matchless  good  for  thee! 


NOT  YET  ! 

Quick  up  under  these  eaves ! 

Draw  in  their  ivy-net  about  us! 

Quick,  love,  lest  blood  should  spot  the  leaves, 

Lest  his  wild  steel  should  rip  and  rout  us! 

Stand  you  here  dark  as  death ! 
Heard  you  not  our  swish  of  arms? 
One  moment,  while  I  drop  a  breath: 
I  was  on  your  ledge  of  Cripple  Farms; 

Your  brother,  sword  in  hand, 
Leaped  out  from  a  shadow  of  a  rock, 
Struck  me  across  my  shoulder-band 
With  "Draw,  now,  coward  for  the  shock!" 

One  thousand  iron  stars 
Shot  out  and  up  in  half  a  twinkle — 
Knives  to  spit  fire  between  our  scars, 
Then  sip  blood  across  the  tinkle. 

Thrust  upon  thrust  was  sent. 
Lunge  by  lunge  was  caught  and  parried 
For  this,  because  two  souls  were  bent 
On  being  one,  though  never  married. 

More  passes,  pass  by  pass 
Back  to  the  rock — then  one  monster  swing, 
Which  spilt  him  like  a  thread  of  glass. 
Made  these  mountains  yelp  and  ring, 
1118 


Not  Yet!  1119 

Slick  as  shot  to  his  feet, 

Then  at  me  by  one  murderous  blow! 

I  ducked  behind  the  rock  and  fleet 

As  breath  struck  up  at  him  from  below. 

His  sabre  caught  an  edge 
Of  the  mighty  trap,  struck  it  square 
Between  the  ribs,  which  sent  the  ledge 
To  atoms  'round  the  howling  air. 

"So  will  I  send  you  too" 
He  brawled,  then  dealt  one  wild-eyed  stroke 
I  dodged  to  run  his  shoulder  through 
Snap  upon  the  instant  that  he  spoke. 

"That  and  that  for  you, 
Take  that"  he  shouted  and  lost  his  head! 
I  could  have  run  him  through  and  through 
To  leave  him  to  the  eagles  and  the  dead, 

But  quick  as  strange  enough 
The  sun's  palm  struck  him  across  the  face 
Till  I  could  see  your  look,  my  love. 
Your  gentle  look  which  marks  your  race. 

I  could  have  struck  you  down 
As  lightly,  then,  as  cut  him  through; 
Your  eyes,  back-seated  in  his  frown, 
Pinned  me  captive — 't  was  a  look  from  you ! 

I  turned  and  fetched  his  sword 

One  swinging  blow  above  the  hilt, 

Which  sent  it  plowing  up  the  sward 

Right  where  his  blood  would  have  been  spilt; 


II20  Not  Yet! 

And,  then,  "Hold  up,  my  friend! 
You  're  in  the  right,  I  am  wrong; 
For  right  is  king  till  breath  shall  end, 
King  above  small  and  great  and  strong." 

And  then,  "Here  is  my  sword! 

Only  Love  is  conqueror  to-day; 

With  it  take  my  hand  and  word. 

This  marriage  shall  be  solemned  when  you  say. 

So  I  left  him  there 

To  string  my  offer  about  his  thought; 
Well — he  may  yield,  but  have  a  care. 
All  his  fury  up  to  top  is  wrought. 

Give  him  but  time  to  think; 
He  will  know  I  could  not  mean  you  wrong; 
Passion  and  Love  are  at  the  brink, 
Swords  are  weak — only  Love  is  strong. 

Made  was  this  world  for  love ; 

Men  have  drained  it  down  to  thirst  of  care, 

Put  iron  bars  about,  above, 

And  man  is  his  own  prisoner  everywhere. 

Not  to  be  trusted,  then? 

This  is  God's  first  law  for  you  and  me? 

The  world  is  ripe  with  savage  men, 

So  we  must  be  handcuffed? — let  us  see: 

Do  I  not  trust  a  friend, 
Stand  him  on  his  honor,  man  for  man? 
Will  he  betrick  me  in  the  end, 
Trample  on  my  trust  because  he  can? 


Not  Yet!  II2I 

For  honor  comes  of  trust : 
Stand  him  on  his  honor,  man  for  man; 
He  does  not  stand  because  he  must, 
He  does  not  slip  me  because  he  can. 

If  honor  come  of  trust, 
Then  do  not  shackle  me  to  my  friend, 
Else  he  may  stand  because  he  must 
With  half  a  mind  to  slip  me  in  the  end. 

So,  too,  would  Love  be  free 
To  be  trusted  once  to  try  full  wings ; 
If  trusted  never  by  you  or  me, 
How  may  he  leap  to  nobler  things? 

How  shall  he  wheel  to  flights 

Which  wing  a  world  up  from  common  clod 

To  circle  about  pale  blue  heights 

A  little  nearer  the  soul  of  God? 

Yet  not  yet — not  just  yet ! 

We  could  not  leave  half  a  world  behind; 

They  might  remember  to  forget — 

Right  is  kind — make  your  way  always  kind. 

So  must  we  stop  to  wait — 

Much  patience  to  help  a  little  on; 

Thin  atoms  shape  a  planet's  fate. 

Shape  a  shapelier  world  when  we  are  gone. 

Only  to-day,  there  's  all ! 
To-morrow  another  sun  must  rise; 
What  'though  I  do  not  hear  the  call 
To  wake,  if  I  helped  to  clear  the  skies! 


71 


SUNRISE  REVERIE 

One  way  is  up  to  God, 

Another,  to  pull  him  down  to  you, 

And  old  or  new, 
And  evident  or  topmost  odd, 
This  one  thing  I  hold  in  view, 
That  nothing  I  see  about 

Is  worth  a  doubt, 

Or  worth  my  faith  to  see 

What  there  is  in  it  that  I  should  mind 

To  lose  or  find 
When  this  plain  truth  comes  so  straight  to  me ; 
I  leave  the  world  behind, 
Each  new  wish,  new  ken,  new  gain, 

Yet  I  remain. 

One  after  one  I  drop 

The  thing  in  this  world  I  came  to  rate 

For  proper  great, 
An  eye  out  always  to  some  new  top 
I  took  for  coronal  fate. 
And  always  to  mark  it  vain — 
Yet  I  remain. 

Whatever  I  may  get 

Which  once  I  strove  for  by  trouble-cup  strife 
For  very  life 

1 1 22 


Sunrise  Reverie  1123 

Leaves  one  thing  lacking  but  better  yet, 
A  new  bud  straight  above  my  knife 
To  climb  to  before  I  clip 
The  citron  lip. 

I  may  not  understand 

The  whole,  since  there  is  no  whole  for  me 

Which  I  may  see, 
No  finite  in  an  infinite  hand, 
No  past,  all  things  to  be. 
And  I  and  my  climbing  heart 

One  clinging  part. 

I  make  from  small  to  grow 

To  larger  than  what  I  see  around 

In  sky  or  ground. 
As  one  after  one  my  idols  go 
I  thought  once  diamonded,  profound — 
So  as  my  world  smalls  I  see 

The  more  in  me. 

Put  this  down,  then,  for  true, 

That  I  must  be  moving — this  no  place 

To  end  a  race 
Of  heart-leaps  such  as  I  and  you, 
But  starter  just,  to  set  the  pace 
So  I  gather  full  and  fair 

To  the  thing  and  square. 

Put  this  down,  too,  for  right : 
What  world  I  gain  I  lose  in  the  end, 

Harvest  and  friend. 
Yet  is  there  left  me  myself  in  sight ; 
So  is  it,  I  will  contend. 


1 124  Sunrise  Reverie 

That  the  one  thing  clean  above  sky  and  sod 
Is  Man  the  God; 

Opportunity  to  do 

What  he  will,  you  leave  the  handcuffs  off 

And  space  enough, 
Nor  try  to  shape  him  to  God  or  you, 
He  to  ripen  in  the  rough. 
And  that  wise  you  put  the  test 

Which  gets  his  best, 

He  the  man  to  become 

More  of  him  as  this  life  plumps  and  spills 

Nor  once  fulfills — 
Not  you  to  dare  to  strike  him  dumb, 
Nor  cake  him  to  taste  and  frills 
Which  pack  your  fancy — he  too 

As  wise  as  you, 

But  not  your  will,  perhaps. 

Or  gentler,  with  not  the  iron-stuff 

Or  gut  enough 
To  butt  against  you  lantern-chaps 
Who  see,  not  the  man,  but  your  rough 
Cheap  Heaven  or  a  gain  to  gain — 

How  monstrous  vain. 

Seeing,  as  I  have  seen. 

How  the  thing  I  seek  will  wrinkle  up 

Like  a  poppy-cup, 
How  lush-like  ever  it  may  have  been 
Or  wondrous  in  the  summing  up, 
Dust-heap  and  vacant  and  vain — 

Yet  I  remain. 


Sunrise  Reverie  112; 

Not  one  thing  I  may  get 

Outside  of  me,  whatsoever  Heaven 

Is  seized  or  given, 
Could  compensate  just  a  jet 
For  self-made  power  from  which  I  was  driven 
By  bribe  or  threat  or  pain 

To  clutch  at  gain. 

What  is  there  I  would  keep 
Forever,  of  things  men  strive  at  so? 

Or  would  I  know 
This  life  I  have  of  cark  and  sleep, 
Bee-treacle  or  porgy-blow, 
Or  that  man  I  call  a  friend, 

Would  never  end? 

Take  planeted  sun  and  suns' 
Vast  star-stuff  to  dot  eternal  place 

For  me  to  face — 
I  count  more  worlds  like  the  nearer  ones 
I  know  of,  yet  not  a  trace 
Of  spirit  such  as  I  see 

Is  all  of  me. 

They  would  not  fill  me  up. 
Rounded  bold  eons  of  flame  and  dew 

I  *m  wonted  to, 
Nor  put  one  drop  in  my  morrow-cup, 
Nor  flash  my  path,  nor  point  me  through 
To  where  I  must  come  one  day 

By  another  way. 

To  want  somewhat,  to  add 
To  my  star-field  one  more  strip  of  sky 
Or  sunstone  eye 


1 126  Sunrise  Reverie 

For  more  worlds  coupled  to  what  I  had, 
Would  leave  me  with  this  same  I 
Larger  than  they,  as  before, 
And  vastly  more. 

So  is  man  great  enough 

To  outreach  what  he  may  touch  or  see 

Eternally 
In  earth  here  or  those  domes  above 
Of  what  now  is  or  shall  be. 
That  he  may  come  straight  to  this, 

How  greater  he  is 

Than  what  he  pants  to  get, 

The  thing  itself,  be  it  clod  or  star 

Or  Subahdar, 
From  sun-sweep  to  mignonette, 
That  he  may  see,  near  and  far, 
How  the  uttermost  fetch  is  man 

And  man  and  man, 

Not  heaps  of  gold  nor  suns 

Nor  one  thing  thought  of  that  can  be  seen, 

By  which  I  mean: 
Man  dogs  a  path  the  spirit  runs. 
Small  matter  what  his  catch  hath  been, 
As  over  the  star-spotted  whole 

Is  Man  the  Soul; 

Not  heaps  of  hope  to  make. 

Nor  God  to  get  to,  nor  Heaven  to  gain, 

Since  that  were  vain 
For  such  as  strive  or  my  meaning  take. 
That  all  which  he  may  obtain 


Sunrise  Reverie  112  7 

Counts  only  to  make  him  man 
On  the  spirit-plan. 

Nor  matters  it  what  end 

I  aim  at,  be  it  God  or  peace  or  gain 

I  would  attain 
To  pay  me  for  loss  of  field  or  friend, 
Comes  there  this  full  truth  again: 
Be  recompense  great  or  small, 

This  man  is  all. 

Made  was  the  world  for  man, 

He  not  to  be  tyranted  by  God  or  Spook, 

Priest  or  Book, 
So  he  come  to  power  by  the  nobler  plan 
Each  new  stalk  of  blossom  took, 
To  make  of  him  more  each  day 

To  force  his  way 

By  power  of  virtue,  will, 

Whole  heartfulness,  self -dependant  might 

By  what  is  right, 
Autocracy  of  soul  until 
He  come  to  have  no  gain  in  sight 
Nor  triumph  above  the  sod 

But  Man  the  God 

To  lord  it  over  death 

By  power  of  mighty  whole  heart-ring  true, 

Endurance  too, 
Soul-soulfulness  to  one  fine  sweet  breath 
No  God  may  snuff  out  or  undo. 
And  he  shall  have  eyes  to  scan 

All  power  in  man. 


II28  Sunrise  Reverie 

Let  me  suppose  I  place 

My  God  in  his  Heaven  for  power  so 

I  come  to  know 
His  will  to  bow  to  it,  take  his  ways, 
Knock  under,  beg  "yes"  or  "no," 
Will  I,  by  such  puppet-plan. 

Come  more  the  man? 

Will  I,  by  fear  or  faint, 

By  duck-under  to  Power  that  is, 

Do  more  than  this : 
Put  me  inside  such  snug  restraint 
For  one  certain  path  to  cowardice? 
May  I,  within  such  diagram, 

Grow  all  I  am? 

Not  up  to  God,  nor  yet 

To  pull  him  down  to  you,  but  to  gain. 

By  might  and  main. 
Such  power  in  you  as  shall  set 
The  soul  of  you  to  law  and  reign 
God-fashion,  nor  count  the  odds, 

Since  "Ye  are  Gods." 


VIRTUTE,  NON  ASTUTIA 

So  you  think  man  great 

By  bulge  of  pate, 

By  what  he  thinks, 

Soul  measured  by  sprints  and  links, 

By  power  to  plot, 

Cut  Gordian  knot, 

And  men  are  Gods 

If  they  find  the  odds 

Between  dyx 

And  dyz. 

As  if  things  were  complex 

In  divinity! 

Man  is  great, 
So  you  have  said, 
By  his  postulate. 
By  his  round  of  head 
If  he  measure  up  a  sun. 
Find  the  path  the  planets  nm, 
Swing  a  sword 
To  grave  his  word, 
Scatter  letters 
To  his  betters, 
Dig  his  fathom  xyz-ly, 
Great  if  he  think  keen  and  freely. 
1 129 


II30  Virtute,  Non  Astutia 

Man  is  great, 

So  you  have  taught, 

If  he  propagate 

New  matchless  thought 

By  which  to  lift 

His  multitude 

Just  to  boast  his  gift 

Of  giving  good. 

Man  is  great, 

Yet  you  shall  see, 

To  link  his  fate 

With  sublimity. 

To  dare  to  do  his  soulfullest  best. 

Blessed  if  only  the  world  be  blest. 

Mark  you  this  spot 

By  the  corner-end 

Of  our  resting-lot — 

There  the  willows  bend, 

Wild  flowers  are  there 

To  play  their  part, 

To  yield  their  heart 

To  this  clasping  air — 

What  shall  he  say 

Who  is  gone  away, 

Who  lies  here  now 

As  the  dead  know  how 

Under  his  yoke 

Of  scarlet  oak 

With  its  big  brown  elbow-bough? 

He  could  not  write, 
He  could  not  sing; 
His  was  one  might 
Of  mastering 


Virtute,  Non  Astutia  1131 

Almighty  ends 

By  little  means, 

So  the  moons  were  friends, 

Flowers  were  queens. 

Each  leaf  was  a  book  of  veins, 

Spirit  was  there, 

Power  and  to  spare, 

Heaven  in  the  ditch  and  rains. 

Across  his  hill 
Grasses  are  warm; 
About  his  mill 
Is  his  cricket  farm, 
A  note  in  E  sharp 
Like  an  August  harp; 
Each  moon-fern  flirts 
In  velvet  skirts; 
Boon  in  a  bush, 
Talk  in  a  leaf. 
Such  evening  hush 
Between  pond  and  reef! 

I  see  his  plow 
Where  he  left  it  last, 
His  dumping-scow, 
Powder-blast ; 
His  box  of  nails 
And  knots  are  there, 
His  flocks  of  quails 
In  the  riddled  air 
As  he  was  once, 
By  force  of  good. 
To  level  his  brunts 
At  evilhood, 


1 132  Virtute,  Non  Astutia 

To  hold  to  his  art 

Of  doing  his  part 

By  his  arm  and  heart. 

Little  he  knew 

Of  X  or  z; 

Wholly  he  grew 

To  do  and  be, 

Held  prosperity  in  fee, 

For  life  with  him  went  honestly 

To  uppermost  endeavor, 

If  blunt  or  clever, 

To  keep  one  law 

The  planets  write, 

Fineness  and  height 

Worth  climbing  for, 

So  he  's  king  alone, 

By  my  word  he  is. 

To  mount  his  throne 

Of  precipice. 

His  little  brood 

He  leaves  behind; 

iThey  take  his  good, 

Keep  his  heart  and  mind. 

Hang  to  his  ways. 

Harvest  his  crops 

Of  laurel-bays 

When  summer  stops, 

Build  steeples  of  com. 

Birds  for  bells, 

So  soul  is  born 

Where  the  wind-heap  knells. 


Virtute,  Non  Astutia  1133 

What  good  he  was, 

That  they  get 

By  law  of  cause 

And  coronet — 

They  are  mood  of  him 

And  trued  of  him 

While  so  they  climb 

Into  lofty  time 

To  look  back  now 

To  the  cricket  farm, 

Pick  and  plow, 

Meadow  balm, 

This  much  to  see : 

Man  is  great  to  grow 

Sublimity 

By  virtue  so 

To  last  when  he  is  gone — 

So  good  in  a  man  passes  on  and  on. 


Will  they  not  keep 

His  mighty  heart 

To  sow  and  reap. 

Play  counterpart 

To  what  he  did 

His  simple  way 

He  piloted 

In  his  little  day, 

Put  virtue  first 

By  one  strong  arm. 

Put  wrong  to  worst, 

Keep  his  spirit-charm 

To  play  true  and  late. 

Which  uncastles  Fate? — 


1 134  Virtute,  Non  Astutia 

So  he  examples  on  and  on, 

So  a  man  speaks  when  he  is  gone. 

I  knew  him  then, 

I  know  them  now, 

His  Httic  ones — ten, 

Each  of  noble  brow, 

All  the  make-up  of  kinging  men. 

All  the  father  over  again. 

They  lead  me  down 

To  where  he  lies 

When  the  leaves  are  brown. 

When  the  wine-field  dies — 

They  take  me  by  the  hand 

In  a  knowing  way 

To  have  me  understand 

All  they  have  to  say. 

Which  is  more  than  Plato's  masterpiece — 

Soul  is  great  in  the  hearts  of  these. 

They  will  grow,  I  said. 
Beyond  the  dead; 
They  will  ripe  to  bloom 
About  his  tomb. 
Flowers  of  Paradise 
Handsomer  than  the  wise, 
Columns  of  State 
Greater  than  the  great 
By  Beauty,  which  is  Power, 
By  Power,  which  is  Beauty 
In  moon  or  flower 
To  engender  heart, 
Give  soul  a  start 
Past  the  passing  hour. 


Virtute,  Non  Astutia  113  5 

Down  we  sit, 

Children  and  I, 

In  our  grassquit  fit 

To  capture  sky 

And  the  tuning  world 

And  the  bumping  air 

Like  our  grassquit  whirled 

In  his  summer  there. 

He  lies  below, 
They  hover  above ; 
They  come  and  go, 
They  bring  their  love, 
Train  the  white  jacinth 
About  his  bed, 
Prop  the  corinth 
Above  his  head — 
His  is  the  soul  of  them 
To  the  jacket's  hem 
For  masterful  endeavor 
Beyond  what  is  clever. 
So  they  sweeten  their  voice 
Like  a  gift  of  joys. 
They  make  the  most 
Of  this  climbing  ghost, 
Like  flocks  of  trumpet-birds 
They  silver  his  words — 
So  a  man  speaks  on  and  on, 
Is  with  us  after  he  is  gone. 


ELBOWS 

You  love  work — why  of  course — 

I  see  it  in  you, 

Such  round-up  of  unbottled  force, 

Knotted  sinew 
As  task  could  not  hope  to  withstand 
If  you  put  shin  to  it,  head  and  hand. 

Genius  is  love  of  work. 

So  you  are  clean  at  it,  my  friend. 

No  aim  being  yours  to  trick  to  shirk 

To  dodge  an  end, 
Since  I  now  know  you  by  snug  study 
For  twice  the  size  of  a  duddy-cuddy. 

Most  folk  to  look  to  you 

Would  doubt  your  breath  of  soul  is  this, 

To  keep  life's  labor-licks  in  view 

So  not  to  miss 
Hack  at  something,  small  matter  what, 
So  you  get  your  licks  in,  hit  or  not. 

Who  could  have  thought  you  knew 
The  trick  of  life  is,  peg  by  peg. 
To  peg  away  at  it,  dead  or  new. 

Thistle  or  skeg. 
So  you  get  any  kind  of  scar 
To  wear — what  matters  it  what  you  are 
11:^6 


Elbows  113  7 

If  you  stick  to  your  move 
With  never  an  idle  hand? 
Here  is  a  thing  you  go  to  prove 

You  understand, 
How  small  appears  the  spiritual  notion 
If  men  make  life  perpetual  motion! 

You  write! — ah,  so — I  see! 
Suppose  you  get  a  pen  in  tow 
To  take  a  hand  at  it  for  me. 

So  well  I  know 
Your  great  freshet  of  sun-pool  smile 
And  look  of  light — no  pickle-stale  style. 

That  last  monologue  of  yours 

Put  me  guessing  how  many  times 

I  wore  your  thought,  whole  tens  and  scores, 

Without  the  rhymes — 
We  think  alike,  as  matter  of  course, 
Only  this  difference  of  elbow-force ! 

Small  use  we  both  should  think, 

For  that  were  waste  if  I  have  your  brains; 

Suppose  now  you  paddle  at  the  ink 

To  take  all  pains 
To  square  your  elbow  for  style  of  mimes 
While  I  ring  down  the  trumpet-rhymes. 

For  see,  for  once,  this  truth : 

Never  you  thought  one  human  thought 

Since  you  were  bottled  up  by  youth 

Which  was  not  wrought 
By  so  many  thousand  heads  before 
You  could  not  reckon  to  foot  the  score. 
72 


1138  Elbows 

All  men  think — catch  at  that — 

They  think  bright  well,  too,  I  '11  have  you  know, 

Before  you  try  for  laureate 

Or  furbelow; 
Yet  is  there  left  them  this  pale  need 
Of  more  of  your  pumping  elbow-speed. 

Genius  is  common  catch 
As  any  end  of  a  pretty  trick 
Snapped  in  a  game  of  parlor-match 

Arithmetic — 
One  hard  real  want  of  men  has  been 
More  stomach  back  of  the  eye-light  keen. 

Well,  you  have  it,  my  chum, 
Full  belliness  you,  fvill  up. 
Whether  it  come  of  treacle-rum 

Or  moly-cup. 
So  stick  to  your  stomach  and  my  brains 
And  we  '11  have  pastime  to  count  the  gains! 

Force — put  peg  in  there, 

You  who  can  suck  your  longest  breath 

To  squirt  my  thought  out,  never  you  care 

For  life  or  death — 
Force  shall  man  you  to  take  the  brunt, 
Put  you  mightfully  to  the  front 

And  I  your  spirit-part 

With  my  white  nostril,  pit-sunk  eye, 

To  put  my  candle-glow  to  your  art 

Clean  capapie. 
While  you,  having  swallowed  fire, 
Will  belch  my  flame  up  to  blow  it  higher. 


Elbows  1 139 

Just  to  look  to  your  chops 
And  red-skin  cheek  of  bloatful  puff 
And  a  farmer  would  look  to  his  crops 
For  kernel  enough  , 

To  give  you  full  face- value — you  see 
That  jowl  was  a  lucky  thing  for  me ! 

Jest  aside,  somehow  I  thought 
Soul  is  value  to  make  for  way 
And  width  and  power,  'though  it  may  be  not 

In  one  life  or  day, 
Since  value  is  value — prisoned  pearl 
Will  one  day  capture  to  lord  an  earl. 

You  will  come  out  like  the  hidden  star 
Which  takes  whole  eons  to  throw  one  torch 
To  a  purpose  to  where  we  are 

For  landlight  or  scorch ; 
One  agate  will  take  all  time  to  blue; 
Doubt  not  all  time  was  made  for  you. 

There  then  's  the  why  I  thought 

This  soul  of  mine  would  stand  for  power 

Whether  I  wrote  a  line  or  not. 

Lived  a  life  or  an  hour; 
Yet  peg  away  at  it,  fine  or  coarse, 
You  of  the  fire-new  elbow-force! 


FEARFULNESS 

Over  my  garden-gate 

And  the  hour  was  late 
And  he  came  whistling  up  the  lawn 
Looking  his  best  to  look  upon, 
And  I,  who  only  the  day  before 
Saw  him  duck  and  trim 
To  my  rival  more 
Of  his  gallantry 
Than  ever  to  me — 
Should  I  smile  and  sweeten  to  him? 

Is  there  a  way  to  know 

What  a  man  will  do 
Once  he  is  out  of  sight  of  you 

And  free  as  a  hawk  to  come  and  go? 
She  is  one  pretty-looking  woman, 
Eyes  of  hibiscus-blue 
So  wholly  human 
And  wondrous  true 
I  saw  him  prefer 
To  keep  his  best  front  and  flower  for  her. 

Yet  why  he  comes  to  me 

Just  wasting  his  hours 
In  pretty  talk  like  perfidy 

As  if  to  trick  me  by  smiles  and  flowers? 
1 140 


Fearfulness  1141 

How  could  he  love  her  and  love  me  too, 
I  should  like  to  know? 

Here  's  a  howdy-do, 

A  pipe  to  blow. 

He  in  my  heart  for  fair, 
Yet  jasmine-sweet  to  the  other  there! 

Never  I  thought  of  that, 
How  a  man  may  be 
Tricky-trappy  as  a  cat 

To  make  a  fool  of  the  heart  of  me, 
And  for  what,  and  all  of  it  for  what 
Was  the  thing  I  thought 
As  I  saw  him  now 
At  his  handsome  bow 
And  best  to  look  upon. 
And  he  there  whistling  up  the  lawn. 

Right  as  he  came  my  way 

I  turned  to  a  flower. 
My  branch  of  globularia, 

To  see  if  the  lips  would  turn  to  play 
Their  tiny  mighty  shower 
Of  sweetness  and  pink 
Just  to  let  me  think 
He  could  not  put  away 
My  love  of  him  so  soon 
And  just  this  dahlia-day  of  June. 

There  as  he  came  I  turned 

As  if  I  neither  saw 
Nor  took  a  thought  of  him  or  care 

Of  what  he  purposed  or  angled  for, 
While  all  the  sweet  time  I  chilled  and  burned 

To  think  of  him  there, 


1142  Fearfulness 

To  know  he  was  near 
And  so  wondrous  dear, 
And  I  to  lose  him  now 
With  his  blindfold-face  and  clouded  brow 

To  never  see  my  love 

Was  wider  than  hers, 
Strong  as  death  and  more  than  enough 

To  gladden  him  as  a  south  wind  stirs 
The  bobolink  to  song — there  my  flower 
Was  saying  to  me  now : 
Great  love  is  a  power. 
Knows  the  when  and  how — 
When,  from  my  rose-bush  bough, 
I  gave  him  such  welcome,  you  know  how, 

As  you  know  too  the  way 

A  girl  will  cover 
Her  heart-sting  from  her  gainly  lover 

Just  to  see  what  he  has  to  say, 
To  try  to  read  him  once  through  and  through 
If  she  may  unknot 

The  puzzle  in  him,  seek 

To  try  him,  make  him  speak 

If  he  will  or  not — 

There  was  my  way  I  angled  and  thought 

As  now  I  bent  my  head 
To  look  to  the  grass 
To  see  if  the  new  arbutus  said 

"You  are  all  he  thinks  of,  all  he  has" — 
Poked  the  stems  with  my  sunshade-point, 
Nothing  was  out  of  joint, 
Only  my  restless  heart. 
My  school-girlish  art, 


Fearful  n  ess  1143 

I  a  whole  soiilful  to  tell 
How  I  loved  him  so  true  and  well. 

"But  she  has  blue  wide  eyes, 

The  other  one  has, 
Sky-lighted,  and  she  looks  linnet- wise. 

While  never  would  she  let  you  pass. 
And  you  must  stop  for  a  word  with  her, 
The  which  you  prefer 
To  a  life  with  me — 
So  you  see  I  see 
How  a  man  may  be 
Double  and  treble  and  quarterly. 

"How  may  a  man  do  this: 

To  think  of  a  girl 
As  wholly  only  for  always  his 

From  shoe-string  up  to  temple-cvwl, 
Yet  look  away  to  another  to  fly 
To  her  lip  and  eye 

As  if  there  were  more 
For  him  to  adore 
Than  soul  has  to  give? 
Love  shall  be  true  to  be  love  to  live. " 

A  figpecker  dropped  to  sing 

In  a  branch  of  plum 
Like  he  were  doing  his  best  to  ring 

New  lyrics  in  his  Elysium, 
Each  new  note  like  a  word  from  him 
Begging  her  to  forbear: 

Love  was  more  than  a  whim. 
More  than  a  life  to  spare. 
Power  was  love  and  truth 
And  she  could  trust  to  his  heart  of  youth. 


1 144  Fearful  n  ess 

"No  doubt  her  eye  is  blue," 

He  lazily  said, 
"Yet  so  are  the  skies  and  eyes  of  you; 
Her  lips,  too,  are  rounded  and  red. 
Her  brow  like  a  throne  of  soul  on  high, 
Yet  you  are  the  same, 

And  she  not  to  blame 
For  such  blue  in  her  eye — 
Blue-bell  eyes,  catawba  lips, 
And,  lo,  the  honey-fly  dips  and  sips! 

"Only  the  shock  of  clay, 

Never  a  grain  of  soul 
Is  there  in  her  eyes  to  dance  and  play 

As  sky  whistles  or  wind-beams  bowl! 
Think  you  a  man  thinks  a  thing  of  eyes, 
Of  the  quill  of  a  nose, 

When  the  thing  he  spies 
Is  spirit  which  blows 
Into  Beauty  as  rich 
As  bells  of  gold  in  your  garden-ditch? 

"  Much  as  her  lips  are  red. 

Much  as  her  eyes  are  blue. 
Now  all  has  been  circum-said 

I  '11  tell  the  truth  of  the  thing  to  you: 
Because  her  lips  were  red. 

Because  her  eyes  were  blue. 

Because  the  tilt  of  her  head 
And  hand  was  like  you, 
I  could  not  pass  her  by 
Since  you  were  there  in  her  lip  and  eye 

"As  there  you  are  to  see 
In  my  fence  of  phlox. 


Fearfulness  iM5 

Just  as  my  lemon-flower  holds  one  bee 
Shut  in  the  one  sun- wonder  box- 
He  leaves  the  outside  pink  he  eyed 
For  the  heart-sweet  deep  inside, 
Prisoner  to  stay 
To  his  latest  day — 
Could  her  blue  outside  eyes  undo 
My  love  of  the  inside  soul  in  you  ? " 


A  FRIEND 

Oh,  and  you  should  have  seen  him! 

What  a  face  to  unscreen  him 
And  yet  to  come  between  him 

And  what  men  thought  he  was  after, 
One  dish  of  peace,  cup  of  laughter 

This  world  counts  for  so  much, 
Yet  so  beyond  his  touch! 

Kind  he  was  to  the  fine  fibre, 

Was  constantest  subscriber 
To  the  highest  point  of  view 

Of  the  universe  or  you — 
Always  he  looked  to  you- ward, 

Careless  as  a  drunken  steward 
If  you  looked  to  him  or  not, 

Of  what  he  lost,  of  what  he  got, 
So  he  should  manage  to  do 

His  best  turn  for  me,  for  you. 

His  was  not  fatuous  concern 

About  pea-bobble  feathers, 
How  much  the  sky  shall  churn 

To  give  us  a  pocketful  of  weathers, 
How  that  small  man  takes  such  chance. 

Dodges  heavy  circumstance. 
Lifts  his  soul  to  foot  the  dance. 

Makes  a  life  of  hats  and  pants. 
1 1 46 


A  Friend  ii47 

Close  would  he  watch  for  half  a  day 

A  wryneck  in  a  clump  of  quick 
To  see  his  eye  toss,  hear  him  pick 

And  rummage  for  his  life  his  way 
For  all  there  was  was  good  of  it 

He  saw  or  understood  of  it, 
Lived  to  love  his  tiny  life 

For  the  hunger  in  it  or  strife. 

Never  thumb-screwed  thought  was  his, 

Freedom  was  not  battered  down ; 
Life,  he  said,  was  precipice, 

A  way  to  climb,  ample  crown 
To  no  end  of  zenith  to  capture 

Power — there  was  his  rapture 
To  know  he  could  climb  and  climb 

To  all  purpose  and  no  end  of  time. 

Nothing  he  knew  to  fear. 

Since  man  is  his  own  God,  and  here 
Master  of  his  own  destiny, 

Maker  of  what  he  is  to  be. 
Power  in  him  to  rise 

Beyond  the  limbo  of  skies, 
Nought  to  encoward  him,  and  so 

He  knew  a  way  to  do  and  go 
High  as  the  soul  may  know. 

One  woiild  speak  him:  "You  do  not  come 
Our  Gay-Day  to  our  Kettledrum ; 

How  little  you  look  to  care 

For  what  we  offer  to  you  there, 

Thumb-talk  and  grog  to  spare. 
Women  in  carded  hair ! 


1 148  A  Friend 

You  let  the  world  go  by 

Hands  down,  you  and  your  climbing  eye. " 

" Never  I  let  the  world  go  by! 

I  live  in  it  to  do  my  much 
Or  little,  my  purpose  such 

I  monarchize  my  destiny 
By  what  I  am,  by  what  I  do. 

Sure  as  yonder  yellow  and  blue 
Cut  the  bold  thunder-cloud  through 

Always  to  play  at  yellow  and  blue." 

"Would  you  build  us  a  church,"  another  said. 
So  our  Christ  may  be  heralded?" 

"Not  Christ,  but  love  in  the  world  is  what 
You  need  to  boost  your  human  thought 

Above  church,  beyond  worshiping 
To  grapple  with  this  real  thing : 

Man  for  master,  man  for  king, 
Man  to  come  supra-worldish  great 

By  love  to  learn  to  dominate 
Beyond  your  little  belt  of  tape 

And  symbol,  shape  a  shapelier  shape. 

"Yonder  is  your  cathedral, 

Your  heap  of  gold — you  gave  your  all ; 
Yet  yonder,  only  next  door. 

Your  city  of  the  sick  and  poor; 
You  give  your  gold  to  God, 

His  children  to  the  sod, 
And  this  your  altar  for  voucher. 

As  if  God  were  jaws  and  hungry  butcher. 

"You  do  well  for  the  round  reward 
You  claim  of  the  paymaster,  God; 


A  Friend  1149 

Always  you  dodge  the  rough  of  it, 

You  whiten  at  a  cuff  of  it, 
Never  you  work  for  love  of  it ! 

Or  you  play  right  for  fear 
If  you  play  wrong  God  will  spear 

To  prick  a  nerve,  start  a  tear. 

"As  if  I  am  not  to  be 

My  best  for  love  of  mastery. 
For  love  of  the  thing  I  do 

Strong  and  clean  as  the  sweep  of  blue 
High  sky  I  look  and  travel  to; 

As  if  I  am  not  to  get 
Most  of  me,  nor  mind  the  let, 

Nor  mind  your  Book  of  bribe  and  threat! 

"Not  for  fear  of  the  law, 

But  for  love  of  it  I  go 
Straight  to  what  I  straighten  for, 

My  most  I  am,  the  best  I  know 
To  make  my  way  by  force 

Of  virtue  and  a  conqueror's  course 
Of  kindness,  of  what  is  true 

Of  the  God  in  me  I  largen  to 
For  not  a  fear  but  He  shall  nod 

Assent  and  I  my  own  Christ  and  God. " 

Just  a  loud-hearted  girl  was  I, 

Ran  as  summer  runs  in  leaves 
Where  the  thistles  and  robins  fly. 

Bees  whistle,  Oregon  weaves 
Sun-song  into  nests  of  thought 

I  flew  to  as  eagles  fly 
Out  against  the  unknown  sky 


1150  A  Friend 

Of  everywhere,  and  not 
A  way  to  fall,  a  place  to  die. 

My  Friend,  and  he  so  great. 

And  I  so  loved  him — he 
So  nested  in  the  heart  in  me 

I  would  watch  and  scarce  could  wait 
His  coming  his  morning  hour 

To  bring  me  his  trumpct-lily  flower 
To  liken  me  to  it  and  to  say : 

Being  is  not  for  a  day  and  hour! 
Yonder  what  fountains  of  night-light  play, 

Worlds  which  come  and  go  their  way, 
Yet  is  all  Being  there  come  to  stay! 

Once  was  a  child  to  the  wayside  tost 

As  any  waif  the  waves  have  lost; 
The  child  could  not  know  a  thing 

Of  this  world  and  its  hankering 
To  crush  out  what  is  weak, 

To  not  let  an  angel  speak 
If  he  have  not  the  iron  cone 

Of  skull,  muscle  of  blood  and  bone: 
Nothing  the  small  child  knew 

Of  what  this  brave  world  likes  to  do 
To  split  the  perfect  heart  in  two. 

There  as  the  small  poor  child 

Looked  to  him,  purred  and  smiled, 

He  could  not  wait,  but  out  of  all  harms 

Gathered  the  waif  to  his  heart  and  arms, 

Gave  her  his  love  he  had  and  shelter 
From  sin-bite,  from  hell-pcltcr, 

Lured  her  up  to  be  strong, 


A  Friend  1151 

Fed  her  on  thought  and  song, 
Loved  her  his  true  life  long. 

Never  to  her  could  be  such  another, 

Such  consummate  soul  of  a  brother 
And  friend  and  lover  to  do 

The  thing  always  which  was  kind  and  true, 
He  so  ultra-woridly  great 

As  not  in  this  life  to  hesitate 
To  do  his  best,  come  what  would 

Of  loss  to  him  or  any  good, 
While  so  as  his  life  went  by 

Beauty  rushed  to  him  out  of  his  sky 
As  evening  clouds  get  the  kingcup  dye. 

Now  no  sooner  has  she  grown 

To  girlhood,  her  morning's  morn. 
Than  she  is  one  day  left  alone. 

Looks  for  her  friend  and  he  is  gone 
As  a  star  behind  a  cloud,  and  I  doubt 

And  whimper  and  think  the  light  is  out. 
As  if  what  God  gives  could  be  taken, 

As  if  human  hope  could  be  shaken 
By  what  I  see  about 

Where  only  the  clouds  go  out. 
Never  the  flash  of  a  star 

To  reach  me  from  no  end  of  far! 

The  child  was  I  to  the  wayside  tost; 

The  girl  am  I,  and  my  friend  is  lost; 
What,  then,  of  this  midwinter  thought: 

Cold  is  king,  summer  is  nought 
And  I  shall  have  him  no  more 

True  and  gentle  as  before, 
But  all  of  him  which  was  meant  to  last, 


1 1 52  A  Friend 

Beauty  which  the  skies  hold  fast, 
Is  withered,  and  his  day  is  past? 

Put  an  ear  to  what  sweep  of  tune 

My  lark  shouts  to  this  pompous  noon 
Wheeling  'round  the  wheeling  moon ! 

Put  an  ear  to  the  ground, 
Catch  the  whisper  of  each  breeze 

Through  the  violets — is  there' found 
Any  lip  like  one  of  these, 

Any  such  whisper  to  tell 
How  I  loved  him,  any  farewell 

Among  the  grasses  where  he  lies, 
Any  sign  that  this  orange  bell 

Hugs  my  heart  less  because  it  dies? 


LONGINGS  OF  AN  ACOLYTE 

I  APPREHEND  this  earth  for  man  was  made 

As  ground  under  foot  is  for  root  and  spade 

And  the  power  of  flowers — man  for  master 
To  the  last  ditch,  and  no  disaster 

To  a  true  soul,  you  lying  pastor! 

I  apprehend  I  am  put  up  to  be 

My  unique  scope  of  majesty, 
Which  comes  not  of  subserviency. 

Of  the  poltroon  trickery  of  monks 
Who  play  at  threats  like  troops  of  skunks 

At  barnyard  practice — better  I  scoff 
At  safe  distance  to  snicker  and  keep  off ! 

I  apprehend  life  has  meaning 

More  than  any  kind  of  careening 

About  God  to  quob  or  to  droop. 

To  parade  your  bombastic  stoop 

Of  worship,  make  me  least  of  all. 

My  thought  as  wide  as  your  pew  is  small, 

Your  God  to  dilate  if  I  limp  and  crawl ! 

I  apprehend  I  am  put  up  to  do 

My  highmost  as  I  am  clean  through 

And  not  the  slap  of  a  lip  of  you 

To  nail  me  to  your  cross  of  thought 

And  I  am  to  be  sold  and  bought. 
And  I  am  to  be  what  I  am  not. 
"  1 153 


1 1 54  Longings  of  an  Acolyte 

I  apprehend  the  blue  in  yonder  ceiling 
Of  space  is  blue  as  this  flower  is  blue 

Which  never  doubled  thumb  for  kneeling, 
But  strikes  at  Heaven,  straight  at  it  too, 

To  swallow  storm,  pocket  new  blue 

To  stand  there  straight  as  the  straight  Heavens  do, 

All  its  own  unique  unity  too. 

I  apprehend  I  am  meant  to  flower 

Into  my  empyrean  of  power 
And  not  to  be  clipped,  and  not  to  cower 

To  your  God  or  you  to  play  wax 
Between  the  fingers  of  your  lacks 

To  come  to  nothing,  to  come  to  you 
To  take  your  print  and  bugaboo. 

I  apprehend  it  is  meant  for  me 

Not  to  be  bowing  and  scraping  to  God, 

Humble  as  any  humble-bee 

Content  in  his  one  honey-pod 

To  suck,  to  give  up  sovereignty, 
To  dip  his  soul  in  the  sod. 

Oh  for  a  wing  to  fly  and  be  free. 

Free  as  a  wind  tickles  among  leaves, 

Free  of  these  knuckle-gems,  this  majesty 

Of  pomp-light  which  so  wholly  bereaves 

Brain  of  power  to  be  thinking. 

Puts  me  to  my  knees  to  be  shrinking 

As  a  newt  shrivels  in  a  strong  storm — 

As  if  this  gabata  could  keep  me  warm. 

This  doctored  draught  of  thought  know  a  way 

Of  dealing  me  the  light  of  day. 

This  candlestick,  this  altar- top  cup 

Show  me  the  truth  of  things  bottom  up, 


Longings  of  an  Acolyte  i^SS 

Foot-foremost  and  inside  out — 

Oh  give  me  your  chance  to  kick  and  doubt ! 

Give  me  your  chance  to  be  ever  great 

Never  because  I  see  the  bait, 

But  wholly  highly  to  float  above  it, 

Greatness  only  because  I  love  it  1 

How  like  a  twinge  I  fear  to  think, 
Lest  God  be  there  to  snap  his  wink, 
There  to  snap  and  snuff  me  out 
If  I  grow  bluff  enough  to  doubt ! 
Which  way  to  turn  if  I  go? 
Follow  my  nose  or  your  toe? 
Little,  I  'm  thinking,  comes  of  thought 
If  I  'm  to  be  what  I  am  not, 
You  the  great  truth  to  be  sought! 

Oh  for  a  breath  of  honest  field 
Where  dizzy  grasses  straight  and  yield 
Each  its  own  way  since  was  begun 
Independence  below  the  sun! 
Yonder  cottage  sits  in  the  rye, 
Nut  orchard  and  lake  next  by, 
A  thousand  sheep  on  the  hills, 
Nothing  known  of  your  crooked  ills. 
Supper  nights  and  city  pills — 
Here  is  the  breath  of  Heaven 
Like  a  breath  of  spirit  driven; 
Whence  it  cometh,  where  it  goes 
Who  cares,  who  is  there  knows? 
Walk  would  I  my  walk  to  see, 
Talk  would  I  my  talk  to  be, 
Pounce  on  my  truth  so  to  go 
My  way  my  soul  beckons,  so 


1 1 56  Longings  of  an  Acolyte 

What  care  I  for  your  potted  strut 

Among  altars,  your  heaving  gut 

Of  promise  of  your  Heaven  in  view? 

By  Heaven  I  '11  not  have  Heaven  with  you! 


Oh  for  one  tortoise-colored  cottage 

To  sit  in  the  rye, 
Majestic  by  its  mighty  shortage, 

By  the  lake  next  by, 
By  the  way  the  chimney-swallows  light 

To  stay  over  night. 
Tapestry  of  bindweed  close  about 

The  rain-water  spout, 
My  couch  just  under  the  roof  at  night 

When  the  rains  play  light 
To  give  me  a  taste  of  what  is  wrought 

Beyond  human  thought 
So  high  over  oboe  or  bassoon, 

Just  spirit  in  tune; 
I  to  my  orcharding,  to  my  crop 

Of  orris  and  hop : 
Voice  in  the  wind  and  window  shutter 

One  word  to  utter. 
That  I  am  vastways  greater  than  what 

Comes  of  hops  or  thought. 
Meant  to  be  Commodore  of  my  fleet 

Of  all  flying  sweet 
About  my  meadows  or  through  my  barn 

To  my  mountain  tarn ; 
Valley-flowers,  the  bull-brier  to  gather, 

To  have  them  rather 
Than  any  stripe  of  gimp  or  galloon 

You  sport  in  prune ; 


Longings  of  an  Acolyte  1157 

Sirgangs  matched  to  the  sweet  of  a  tree 

To  canticle  me; 
And  she — why,  she  also  woiild  be  there 

In  her  raven  hair, 
Eyes  twice  deep  unconscious  true, 

All  the  heart  all  through, 
Such  the  pink  of  a  lip  in  her  cheek 

I  think  it  will  speak, 
Such  the  rhapsody  in  her  voice 

Of  a  harp  of  joys 
As  sends  the  wind,  by  her  carol  driven, 

To  carol  in  Heaven — 
She,  of  an  evening  and  twice  as  fair, 

To  be  by  me  there. 
We  the  triumphant  heart  together, 

Nor  thought  of  whether 
You  in  your  pickle-wisdom  approve 

Of  our  day  of  love — 
Ay-vine  above,  just  over  our  door. 

To  drop  us  such  store 
Of  strong  contentment  as  only  springs 

Of  such  power  as  swings 
All  soul  at  this  universe  of  fate 

To  stand  lasting  great, 
Force  against  force  so  to  trample  down 

Whip-snap  and  frown 
By  virtue  of  superlative  Right, 

I  God  in  my  might, 
And  your  bold  See-Bull  may  bellow-gong 

To  your  coward  throng. 
May  plaster  their  faces  with  your  thought 

Till  their  soul  be  nought 
But  your  soul  which  is  printed  there 

In  fact  and  for  fair 


1 1 58  Longings  of  an  Acolyte 

As  any  other  mouldable  clay 

Takes  the  potter's  play — 
We  two  there  in  our  cottage  door 

Twisting  hellebore, 
We  two  only,  just  I  and  my  love 

God  and  Goddess  enough 
To  throne  our  thought  in  yonder  spaces 

Where  every  place  is 
For  every  purpose  and  dream  and  end 

And  undying  friend, 
Where  every  here  is  and  hereafter 

Of  climbing  rafter, 
All  things  surmounting  to  more  and  more 

Than  all  heretofore — 
Fathomless  place  of  power  that  I 
May  ripen  by  the  power  I  ply. 

Such  a  girl  once  I  knew  in  her  prime, 
I  in  my  prime  too; 
Near  it  was  about  lilac  time. 
Spring  kept  the  flowers  in  view 
As  I  kept  her,  my  flower,  in  heart, 
And  Fall  might  come,  play  its  part, 
Put  sickle  to  summer,  yet  was  I 
Closer  than  ever  to  my  sky 
Where  my  flowers  refuse  to  die 
Because  their  sky  is  made  of  June, 
Made  of  a  zenith  always  noon. 
Girl  and  boy,  we  there  together, 
Danced  like  robins  through  the  hether, 
Light  and  free  as  wind  and  feather, 
Two  hearts  to  the  top  of  summer. 
Cooked  such  fancies  in  the  sun, 
Hunted  so  the  honey-plumber, 


Longings  of  an  Acolyte  1159 

Saw  the  wax-flower  pop  and  fun, 
Galloped  as  a  cloud  is  driven, 
Just  the  bright  side  up  to  Heaven — 
Such  her  rich  white  tiny  hand, 
Nameless  Beauty  to  understand, 
Yet  so  secret  as  spirit  land — 

She  about  to  put  her  lip 

Flower-like  up  to  my  sun, 

Her  first  taste,  take  her  dip 

Of  life,  her  Hfe  just  begun. 

When  you  came — there  I  saw  you  come 

Pumping  your  low  reverend  hum 

Of  buncombe,  of  how  Hfe  is  vain, 

A  thing  to  lose,  that  way  to  gain 

Another  and  a  fairer  life 

Than  heartful  mother,  flawless  wife — 

As  if  you  could  make  it  plain 

Greatness  breeds  by  love  of  gain! 

A  few  laps  of  your  fustian-tongue, 

You  masterful,  she  so  young 

As  not  to  know  soul  is  to  keep 

Possession  of  as  the  breath  I  reap, 

She  passed  your  way,  went  she  with  you 

Into  her  dungeon — the  air  is  blue 

In  your  dungeon,  poison  through 

To  the  death-bite,  helUsh  too 

To  pin  spirit,  spit  it  through 

To  the  quick  so  never  one  word 

Above  "Your  Reverence"  be  heard. 

There  she  lies  now  in  her  bed; 
There  she  dies  too — good  as  dead ; 


ii6o  Longings  of  an  Acolyte 

Never  knew  a  nobler  thing 
Than  simpering  and  withering 
To  win  Heaven,  to  buy  her  place, 
Pay  the  price,  her  wasted  face, 
Her  mean  portion,  cursed  case 
In  exchange  for  Elysium-lot, 
As  if  this  spirit  could  be  bought! 

Never  came  her  chance  to  know 
Life  is  one  God's  way  to  go. 
Give  and  take,  blow  for  blow, 
To  hammer  back  the  Furies  so 
I  come  to  somewhat,  I  am  more 
Than  whining  poodle  at  your  door 
To  worship,  knuckle  down,  implore, 
As  if  I  am  not  meant  to  be 
All  the  God  there  goes  in  me 
Down  to  the  God's  eternity! 

Never  was  open  to  her  to  know 
Life  is  one  Godfullest  way  to  go 
To  masterdom  between  kiss  and  blow, 
Day-storm  of  flowers  meant  to  melt 
To  sweetness  if  the  night-storm  pelt. 

Never  she  knew  there  is  coward  to  play, 

Coward  to  run  from  the  world  away, 

Coward  to  hide  in  your  drowsy  swamp. 

Coward  to  dwindle  at  your  pomp. 

Coward  to  dodge  a  world  which  grows 

Beauty  by  the  chisel-blows, 

Coward  to  hide  behind  a  cross. 

Take  the  gain  and  not  the  loss! 

Be  the  way  no  matter  how  hard, 

Who  would  fall  from  power,  play  coward? 


Longings  of  an  Acolyte  1161 

There  so  she  passes  away 

Out  of  her  Hfe  of  day, 

Out  of  her  rights  of  a  woman 

To  play  the  God,  play  human, 

Gather  power  in  the  world  to  do 

Noblest,  which  is  kind  and  true 

For  never  any  Heaven  in  view. 

For  fear  of  neither  God  nor  you, 

Help  another  to  it  too — 

So  there  she  withers  like  a  fork 

Of  phoenix  on  your  dungeon-stalk. 


Next  you  turn  to  me. 
Dart  your  poison  fang, 
Spit  and  hiss  decree. 
Let  me  feel  the  pang, 
I  as  young  as  not 
Once  to  doubt  of  you 
If  you  have  a  thought 
Which  is  free  or  true. 

Came  you  like  a  thief 
Prowling  in  my  night, 
Gave  me  your  belief, 
Which  is  lack  of  light. 
Caught  me  by  the  slack 
Of  my  slouchy  mind 
Just  to  hold  me  back. 
Keep  me  well  behind 
What  is  best  in  youth, 
All  my  love  of  truth. 
All  myself,  forsooth — 
There  's  your  poison  tooth ! 


1 1 62  Longings  of  an  Acolyte 

Here  I  drool  in  plight 
Like  a  wad  of  dough, 
Subject  to  your  might, 
You  that  shaped  me  so 
I  should  take  your  tricks, 
Take  your  nightmare  mix 
Of  low  candle-light 
And  great  altar-height, 
Keep  your  Creed  for  blight, 
Keep  your  Hell  for  fright, 
Keep  your  Heaven  in  sight. 

You  are  my  kind  Father- Priest ; 
You  love  souls,  so  much  at  least 
As  any  bull-rat  loves  his  feast ; 
Your  cheap  chant  enslaves  and  dumbs, 
Spittles  through  your  tiger-gums, 
Holds  me  in  your  brood  of  thumbs. 

Breathe  I  to  be  overawed 
Once  I  hear  you  yelping  "Lord"? 
Law,  not  Lord,  contrives  to  lord  it, 
Mankind  made  to  be  law-lorded. 
Never  dominioned  by  your  God 
Or  you — always  Law  is  Lord. 

Man  first,  God  next, 

My  pulpiter — there  's  your  text! 

God  in  the  universe  for  what 

Makes  me  master,  makes  not 

God  to  rule  my  spleen,  my  thought 

So  I  come  to  take  your  trot. 

Your  bit  to  jounce  in  my  teeth, 

Your  hand  at  the  very  breath  I  breathe. 


Longings  of  an  Acolyte  1163 

Man  first,  God  next, 
My  Greedy — mark  the  text! 
Give  my  brother  man  his  chance 
To  outkingdom  circumstance; 
Give  him  of  power  to  over-master 
Monarchy  of  all  disaster 
To  outcompass  his  belt  of  earth 
For  soul  and  for  all  soul  is  worth ; 
Give  him  his  chance  to  undo  fate 
By  strugglement,  to  shape  his  gait 
By  conquest  of  all  evil  state 
To  sovereignty  unlorded  great; 
Give  him  knowledge  to  unknow 
Your  goshawk- wisdom,  power  to  show 
His  self -side,  his  great  gait  to  go, 
Man  his  own  man,  if  or  no. 

Give  him  of  all  power  which  swings 

The  soul  of  things, 

Fearnought  he,  love-all  he, 

Power  for  soul-supremacy, 

He  his  own  subject,  not  yours, 

By  the  Self  he  stores, 

He  of  a  lung  which  is  free 

To  hurl  his  truth  at  sovereignty 

Other  than  his  sovereign  self, 

Go  his  own  great  gait  to  go, 

Man  his  own  God,  if  or  no.   1 

This  is  such  pleasant  day. 

The  sun  blinks  overhead, 

Blinks  diamond  light,  corundum  red, 

Lets  the  two  cross-colors  play 

While  I  play  prisoner,  I  play  dead. 


1164  Longings  of  an  Acolyte 

Such  is  the  pleasant  day 

Tortoise-flower  is  in  dress, 

Bull-spink  knows  what  notes  to  play 

To  tell  the  wind  his  loveliness, 

While  she,  my  one  faded  flower 

Crushed  in  your  condor-claws,  shall  cower, 

Shall  die  away  to  tell  your  power 

How  to  subterhuman  it  grew. 

Points  the  porbeagle  beast  in  you. 

Oh,  to  be  again  together. 

Girl  and  boy  as  that  time  when 

We  swallowed  sun-farm  weather 

Out  of  reach  of  Gods  and  men, 

Sang  like  swallows  in  the  leaves, 

Buttoned  heart  to  heart,  so  saw 

Only  love  to  ripen  for. 

Only  what  spirit  achieves, 

Scooped  the  tall  grass  between  fingers 

— How  life  goes,  love  lingers — 

Watched  our  shadows  in  the  glass 

The  lake  holds  to  not  let  us  pass 

Where  we  walked  while  there  we  talked 

So  never  once  one  chogset  balked — 

There  I  articled  my  first  truth. 

Which  is  love,  which  evermore  is  love — 

Love  is  priest  and  power  enough ! 

Oh,  to  be  together  again, 
Our  cottage  sitting  in  the  rye. 
Cheek  up  to  the  tickling  rain, 
Cheek  to  cheek,  just  she  and  I 
For  any  joy,  any  pain 
Good  could  come  of,  life  to  do 


Longings  of  an  Acolyte  1165 

Masterfully  fearless  true, 

Cloud  to-day,  sun  to-morrow. 

Payment  of  what  life  we  borrow 

In  full  and  in  joy  and  in  power 

To  match  and  master  any  hour 

Of  brutishness  with  teeth  in  it, 

We  to  king  and  ring  and  breathe  in  it. 

Oh,  to  be  together  again, 

Pull  dye-root,  plow  the  plain, 

Have  a  way  and  a  face 

And  a  play  and  a  grace 

Of  our  own,  and  at  least 

Never  pest  of  a  priest 

— How  surpassingly  out  of  place 

You  and  your  good  gridiron  face! — 

Just  our  love  to  be  kind, 

Just  our  love  to  be  great, 

Just  our  love  to  be  blind 

To  you  and  your  pompous  prate 

And  altar-dance,  your  tricky  state, 

Your  keen  gut  to  dominate 

So  I  drink  your  poison  theme, 

So  I  drop  my  kingdom-dream, 

I  the  subject,  you  supreme! 

Winds  may  bugle,  pretty  winds, 
Bird-wing  broaden  as  it  thins; 
Snappy  tirade  of  the  storm 
Blubh  the  lily,  give  it  form ; 
Just  his  power  to  sally  high 
Lengthen  power  in  the  eagle's  eye; 
Bright  oat-fields  may  wave,  may  laugh. 
Toss  tassels,  toss  idle  chaff, 


ii66  Longings  of  an  Acolyte 

Yet  I  shall  nevermore  be  there 

For  quaff  of  it,  swallow  my  share, 

Suck  the  unencumbered  air; 

Never  shall  I  paddle  among  leaves, 

Dibble  where  the  water-crow  weaves. 

My  love  in  hand  when  for  her 

Moon-winds  wait — how  they  defer, 

Hold  their  breath,  refuse  to  stir 

Once  there  comes  one  step  of  her! — 

What  counts  it  all  to  me  now, 

Bush-fruit,  clean  eagle-bough. 

Or  any  thought  or  any  how. 

And  I  but  pooh-bird  in  my  pen, 

All  the  old  chaff  over  again, 

Back  in  the  clutches  of  Gods  and  men? 


THE  NIGHT  OF  THE  BIG  WIND 

Ireland 

Shock  in  the  window  shutter, 
Tub  in  the  gutter 
With  the  wind, 
Oh  what  a  wind. 
And  the  lightning, 
Dry  as  drouth, 
Stabbing-tricks, 
A  fork  of  licks 
Like  a  serpent's  mouth — 
Trees  for  brutes. 
Legs  of  the  stork 
Pick  up  their  roots. 
Stalk  and  balk — 
All  a  lead  sky 
Of  the  haggard  eye. 
Breath  in  it. 
Death  in  it. 
Hungry  knife 
To  swallow  life — 
Tyrant  gust 
Grinds  his  chop, 
Mountain  dust 
Takes  leap  to  flop 
Like  cinders  thrust 
1 1 67 


ii68  The  Night  of  the  Big  Wind 


From  a  cannon's  crop — 

Earth  strikes  out, 

Sky  strikes  under, 

Fling  and  pout 

And  croon  of  thunder, 

Tornado-shout, 

Bawling  wonder — 

Clouds  are  in  rings 

To  chain  the  sky, 

Terrors  are  kings, 

Soul  is  shy 

When  the  devil  sings 

And  the  hell  is  high — 

Wanton  folly 

Jumps  to  take 

Swamp  or  holly, 

Rouse  the  lake. 

Bend  the  brushes. 

Fright  the  spink. 

Call  the  thrushes 

Down  to  shrink — 

Ground-hog  huddles 

In  his  cell. 

Mouths  and  muddles 

"All  is  well"— 

Wolves  are  cowed. 

Whelps  are  beaten. 

Pastures  plowed 

And  chewed  and  eaten — 

Dogs  in  the  wind 

Like  feathers  sent 

To  be  slued  and  pinned 

In  the  firmament — 

Shanties  on  wing 


The  Night  of  the  Big  Wind  1169 

To  plow  the  sky, 
Chaos  for  king 
For  bellowing 
In  bog  and  rye — 
Moon-chat  borne 
Where  his  wing  is  shorn, 
Throat  is  torn — 
Bell-buoy  gong 
Subdued  in  song 
And  the  note  is  long — 
And  then  the  rain 
Like  drops  of  thought 
That  hell  is  vain 
To  bring  to  nought 
All  the  plummy  grain, 
All  the  raisin-plot 
Which  will  fruit  again 
In  spite  of  power 
Which  whips  the  plain, 
Snaffles  the  flower, 
Breaks  earth  in  vain 
To  stop  an  hour 
Of  the  flower-power 
To  yellow  again. 

Belle  Ella  and  I  are  there  too — she  is  my  wild-flower  out  of  my 
field — the  huge  storm  makes  targets  of  us  two — think  you 
we  are  there  to  yield,  to  play  pigwidgeon,  play  trembling 
flower,  fall  to  worshiping  the  storm  for  its  power? — one  thing 
is  true,  and  true  enough,  we  are  there  to  yield  to  love,  our 
God-greatened  power  and  the  whole  of  it,  rain  and  flame, 
body  and  soul  of  it  to  a  purpose  and  an  end  of  doubt,  to  shut 
the  crush  of  the  wind- whip  out.  Are  we  posted  behind  an 
oak  only  to  dodge  the  leven-stroke,  dodge  what  the  flood- 


1 170  The  Night  of  the  Big  Wind 

winds  pelt  and  soak?  Do  we  think  of  our  hide,  of  how  the 
fire-fork  pricked  and  shied,  not  of  our  heart  with  its  fire  inside? 
How  the  winds  may  pinch  and  shriek  we  mind  not — they  die 
down  in  a  week — any  riot  in  a  cloud  ceases,  the  great  star- 
clusters  crowd,  halt  overhead,  look  clean  and  proud — we  too 
halt  overhead  in  thought,  we  follow  on  in  bosom,  while  how 
the  wind  sweats  matters  not,  nor  how  its  tone  is  pompous- 
gruesome — we  live  inside,  heart  inside,  power  of  will  inside — 
outwardness  has  changed  and  died,  but  what  of  this  soul 
inside,  soiil  which  never  moth  may  fret,  soul  which  never  storm 
shall  wet,  soul  which  histories  do  not  forget?  What  of  a 
heaven  of  fillibuster,  what  of  any  cuff  or  bluster  of  any  wind? 
— soul  has  been  broadened,  never  thinned,  while  we  two  in 
our  hearts  are  one  to  fight  the  peerless  omnipotent  sun,  to 
beat  down  what  is  outside,  make  a  kingdom  of  soul  to  bride 
new  regions  where  scope  is  wide  because  we  are  unravelled, 
untied — storm  against  storm,  while  without  a  doubt  our 
hearts  bar  the  tigerish  typhoon  out. 


MY  ROSE 

My  ripe  rose  in  her  hair! 

The  twice  I  looked  I  saw  it  there 
In  a  satin  nest  and  satisfied  air, 

My  South  Sea  rose  tilted  oblique, 
Face  part  hid,  as  if  in  pique, 

Like  a  young  moon  caught  in  the  quartered  cheek. 

Hark  for  a  word  with  you. 

My  truant  rose,  and  you  stick  there  true 
To  her  who  is  false  in  thought  and  thew ! 

I  snuggled  you  there  in  your  ivy  nest 
To  take  my  message,  do  your  best 

To  make  my  whole  heart  manifest. 

Last  night  just  at  her  side. 

Just  as  the  moon  stood  bloodroot-dyed 
By  a  cloud  which  opened  its  veins  and  died, 

I  fastened  you  by  my  trick  of  care 
In  the  corner  temple  of  her  hair 

To  plead  for  me  with  your  pheasant  stare. 

This  lock  of  moss  in  turn 

Gave  she  me  with  such  concern, 
Her  invitation  to  return 

And  claim  her,  I  would  think,  when  she  said: 
Come  again  soon  as  a  day  is  dead 

And  the  moon  in  heaven  makes  a  day  instead. 
1171 


1 1 72  My  Rose 

The  next  night  so  am  I 

Come  again  where  the  moonbeams  fly 
Between  the  leaves  in  her  vine  of  Ay — 

I  count  the  leaves,  I  count  to  sec 
If  she  is  true  as  love  must  be 

To  hold  my  soul  by  the  love  in  me. 

I  count  my  leaves  again, 

I  make  the  number  each  time  ten : 
"She  loves  me,  she  loves  me  not,"  and  then 

Always  there  's  the  last  zero-spot 
Always  to  say  she  loves  me  not 

As  ten  times  ten  in  the  end  is  nought. 

Straight  through  her  lattice-bush 

Her  whisper  creeps — I  hark  and  hush 

And  wonder  at  it:  Could  the  thrush 

Have  caught  her  tone  of  tune,  the  while 

I  listen,  nor  I  see  the  guile, 

I  think  my  thrush  there  all  the  while, 

When,  now  behind  the  screen 

My  falsetto-girl  is  seen, 
Only  her  bush  of  lilac  between 

My  rival  and  me — there  she  keeps 
Her  lips  alive  as  the  pewee  cheeps, 

Snares  him  too  by  her  twinkle-peeps. 

Never  my  rival  knows 

But  she  is  his,  such  truth  she  shows 
Her  way  her  light  soul  tricks  and  glows 

To  hand  him  my  flower  out  of  her  hair. 
My  rose  for  her  keeping  I  nestled  there — 

And  now  he  has  it,  let  him  beware ! 


My  Rose  1173 

For  next  he  looks  between 

The  cross-ribs  of  her  lilac-screen 
And  I  am  there  to  be  pinned  and  seen 

Who  came  to  keep  my  word  so  soon, 
As  flies  the  moon-lark  towards  his  moon 

To  spill  his  heart  in  his  April  tune. 

True  is  all  trick  uncouth, 

Nor  aught  so  fine  as  the  heart  of  youth 
Playing  at  only  the  trick  of  truth, 

For  now  he  is  up  in  arms, 
Love  is  only  an  army  of  harms. 

While  what  of  her  pill-peppered  shawl  of  charms 

Now  he  may  see  inside 

Where  devils  many  try  to  hide? 
"Oh,  love  is  deep  and  the  world  is  wide, 

And  fish  as  good  as  was  ever  caught! 
Nothing  of  nothing  is  mostly  wrought, 

And  I  'm  to  be  hoodwinked  an  atom  not, " 

As  through  the  gate  he  's  off, 

Scarce  a  thought  his  hat  to  doff, 
Only  the  little  choking  cough 

To  mind  her  his  love  has  been  choked, 
Her  underhandedness  uncloaked, 

And  truth  and  trick  are  not  to  be  yoked. 

Right  as  he  goes  to  quit, 

Disgust  and  torment  in  him  knit, 
Lets  the  Furies  hiss  and  spit, 

Flings  he  my  flower  across  the  path 
By  all  the  fury  which  he  hath 

To  show  her  his  basketful  of  wrath. 


1174  My  Rose 

My  rose  I  pluck  again, 

One  leaf  I  pluck  out  of  it,  then 
I  call  him  back:  "We  are  brother-men, 

We  played  our  hearts  and  you  think  we  lost 
For  this,  because  our  hearts  were  crossed. 

And  you  see  only  one  side — the  cost! 

"Take  you  this  leaf  to  you. 

This  rose-leaf  out  of  my  rose,  and  too 
See  that  you  keep  it  your  wide  life  through ; 

Forever  to  you  't  is  a  lip  to  tell 
There  's  more  in  the  soul  than  Heaven  or  Hell, 

To  wit,  the  triumph  of  doing  well." 

Then — my  hand  to  him — then : 

"We  're  brother-breathers,  brother-men; 

We  've  been  fooled  again  and  again, 

Did  you  think?     But  see  how  Right  has  schooled, 

How  only  Law  and  Law  have  ruled. 

How  only  the  fooler  has  been  fooled : 

"For  we  are  arm  in  arm. 

Our  moping  maid  has  lost  her  charm     , 
Like  a  cloud  if  the  sun  remove  his  palm. — 

She  will  learn — life  is  a  day 
To  learn  to  take  the  higher  way 

Than  cockle-shell  sham,  cat-paw  play. " 

So  are  you  left  to  me. 

My  rose — you  hold  pink  in  fee, 
And  thought,  for  you  give  thought  to  me, 

This  thought :  She  learned,  as  years  went  by, 
Only  one  way  is  to  do  and  die. 

The  way  the  Gods  know — Arcturus-high ! 


FOR  A  SIGN 

PuccooN  to  be  seen, 

Knotted  drops  of  green 

Through  his  vest, 

And,  between. 

Filigree  at  its  best, 

And,  beside, 

He  wore  purple  for  his  hide, 

And  again 

He  could  imitate  the  grain 

By  a  little  yellow  vein 

In  his  cuff. 

Breadth  of  buff. 

Cochineal  enough 

Would  swamp  the  thing  he  said 

In  boisterous  red. 

Such  a  taste 
About  the  waist 
As  taste  entails, 
And,  then. 

Such  his  flock  of  fingernails. 
Each  one  like  a  perfect  pen 
As  if  it  meant  to  write, 
Never  penny-thought  in  sight — 
Head  so  straight 
As  a  chapel- gate 
1 175 


1 1 76  For  a  Sign 


To  point  him  great, 

And,  too. 

Much  too  straight  to  look  to  you — 

Silk  in  the  collar, 

His  last  dollar 

For  pins  and  puff 

To  hide  the  rough, 

Knee-boots  to  let  you  know 

The  up  and  go 

And  power  of  show, 

Shin-shape  for  the  round  and  climb 

Of  fashion  women  think  sublime, 

He  the  high  pride  of  pudding-time ! 

Monday  is  the  morning 

He  goes  adorning 

Pelt  and  thew. 

Not  once  to  be  new, 

Not  to  put  the  bow-tie  true, 

But  apes  the  hang 

Or  fiddle-twang 

Or  Pelopid  in  you ! 

There  's  his  gown 

Of  astrakan. 

His  cheek  of  down 

To  mark  him  man. 

And  so 

Straight  as  the  string  of  a  bow 

He  straightens  to  show 

How  straight  he  can  go; 

High  as  the  top  of  his  hat 

He  is  aiming  at; 

Fine  as  the  fin  of  his  boot 

His  hop  is  and  cute. 


For  a  Sign  ii77 

And  so 

I  see  him  reel  and  blow, 
Bauble  to  fashion-fetch 
His  pinch  and  stretch 
To  look  heighty, 
Show  mighty. 

This  is  the  shop 
He  is  to  pass, 
Yet  must  he  stop 
At  the  window-glass 
To  look  in  to  see 
What  a  window  has 
For  opals  in  glee, 
For  a  thumb  of  gold 
To  sprint  in  his  chain. 
Match  the  Sappho-fold, 
Catch  the  yellow  vein. 

This  is  the  shop 
He  cannot  pass; 
Here  is  his  stop 
At  the  window-glass, 
While  all  he  will  see 
Is  himself  to  pas, 
His  image  for  repartee 
For  much  as  to  say : 
"You  may  look  in  here 
Any  look,  any  way, 
Yet  one  point  is  clear, 
I  am  come  to  stay 
Just  to  look  to  you. 
To  hold  to  you  too — 
I  am  yourself, 
Rib-arc  and  elf 


1178  For  a  Sign 

All  over  again, 

I  'vc  the  puccoon  and  sheen, 

I  've  the  empty  chain 

And  filigree-green, 

Nor  more  is  nor  less 

Than  yourself  to  be  seen 

In  this  window-press. " 

That  still  is  he  balked 

By  the  picture  in  check. 

Which  is  blued  and  chalked 

Like  a  pigeon's  neck. 

He  may  not  look  else 

Than  straight  where  he  looks 

At  his  yellowish  gelts. 

Nor  he  sees  in  the  shop 

Where  the  hang-bird  hooks 

Or  the  hat-birds  drop, 

Where  chestnut  widgeon 

Prods  silver  pigeon. 

Nor  sees  he  aught  he  would  share 

Save  just  himself  in  the  window  there. 

In  the  shop  inside 
Is  my  lady,  too, 
To  the  counter  tied 
By  the  hats  in  view 
Modelled  Easter-new, 
By  the  ribbon-make 
Of  a  waist  in  lake, 
By  the  toupee-bloom 
Of  an  eagle's  plume. 
While  there  outside 
Stands  he  statue-still, 


For  a  Sign  1179 

This  man  like  pride 

In  his  windowsill, 

Whom  she  thinks  she  knows 

By  his  label  of  rose, 

By  his  elbow-bows, 

Buttons  in  his  coat  to  prize 

For  wider,  wiser  than  his  eyes. 

Yet  she  takes  him  for  a  sign. 
Shop-sign  in  a  window  put, 
Keeps  he  so  his  plump  in  line, 
Never  ever  stirs  a  foot 
For  looking  so  in  the  glass 
To  catch  his  image,  while  alas 
His  image  will  not  let  him  pass — 
Sees  a  man  but  himself,  't  is  so 
He  shall  neither  see  nor  go ! 

Here  *s  the  shop-lord,  he  will  know, 
Him  she  will  ask : 
"Yonder  wooden  elbow-bow 
Looking  in  the  window  so, 
What  a  marvellous  mask! 
So  much  like  my  man  is  he,    ' 
Him  who  keeps  his  heart  for  me, 
I  must  think  of  him  as  such. 
Just  my  man  to  see  and  touch; 
Wonder  is  it  art  could  shape 
Likeness  such  in  chin  and  nape; 
Copy  his  lip,  my  man's  lip. 
Sunshine-eye,  fashion-hip. 
Nor  one  peevish  wrinkle  skip 
He  carries  in  his  upper  brow — 
How  could  art  have  done  it — how?" 


ii8o  For  a  Sign 


"Never  art,  only  nature 

Made  the  creature; 

Nor  is  he  a  sign 

Made  of  paint  and  pine, 

Nor  yet  is  he  mine! 

So  looks  it,  as  you  say, 

He  must  be  yours,  your  clay. 

Your  confounded  popinjay 

For  you,  and  yet  for  a  sign 

For  you  that  you  draw  the  line 

Between  the  chalk  in  his  cheek 

And  the  soul  there  to  speak; 

Between  the  lip  which  he  has 

And  his  lip  in  the  glass 

Which  could  tell 

Love  as  quick  and  as  well; 

Between  the  light  in  his  eye 

And  the  glass-light  by; 

Between  the  dumb  breath  at  his  mouth 

And  the  wind  sailing  south — 

Draw  the  line,  if  you  can, 

'Twixt  the  sign  and  the  man 

And  you  have  it — you  have  him  glued 

To  himself,  cheek  and  mood, 

Glued  to  his  print  in  the  glass 

For  the  likeness  it  has. 

Glued  to  himself  like  a  knot 

In  a  tree,  and  forgot 

Is  the  world  'round  about, 

I  and  you  counted  out. 

You  and  your  love  and  your  hold, 

I  and  my  shop  and  his  gold. 


For  a  Sign  1181 

"  Let  him  stand  for  a  sign, 

He  shall  be  mine ! 

Look  how  the  people  will  stop, 

Pour  into  my  shop 

And  they  see  him  just  there 

With  his  stare 

Of  unbottled  surprise 

Looking  scholarly  wise, 

Looking  in  so  to  see 

Philomel,  filigree, 

Anything  my  window  shows, 

Sample  buckles,  ample  rose, 

Pin-garnets,  and  they  think  he  sees 

My  trinkets  and  their  trick  to  please. 

Never  any  little  inkling 

All  his  eyes  at  himself  are  twinkling. 

"Take  him  for  a  sign,  you  too, 

For  he  is  for  you 

For  a  sign  that  you  halt, 

Shun  a  man  for  such  fault, 

Leave  him  there,  snug  in  his  shelf. 

All  his  eyes  on  himself. 

"Only  himself  he  may  see,  so 
Never  he  sees  you  or  me,  so 
Leave  him  to  his  seeing — so!" 


THE  STARS 

Step  the  stars  among, 
Hide-and-seeking  throng ; 
How  they  weep  to  laugh 
As  we  cradle  chaff! 
How  they  laugh ! 

In  and  out  of  sight, 
Sprinkled  over  night, 
How  they  laugh  to  weep 
As  we  shun  the  deep ! 
How  they  weep ! 

Not  a  breathless  word 
From  the  void  is  heard; 
Not  a  look  nor  sound 
From  the  vast  around. 
Not  a  sound. 

Do  they  heed  us  not? 
Are  we  quite  forgot 
Where  their  thtmdering  globes 
Coil  in  clustered  lobes, 
Flaming  robes? 

Do  they  know  us  not 
In  this  lonely  spot? 
1182 


The  Stars  1183 

Can  they  pass  us  by 

As  they  hear  us  cry, 

See  us  die? 

Only  true  and  fair 
On  the  stillest  air 
Is  the  sign  they  make 
To  a  heart  they  wake, 
Woo  and  take. 

Is  mere  human  speech 
All  the  planets  preach? 
Is  this  "yes"  and  "no" 
All  the  spaces  sow, 
All  they  grow? 

From  Orion's  rings 
To  the  least  of  things 
Tongues  are  on  the  air, 
Speech  is  everywhere, 
,         True  and  fair. 

Tell  me,  perfect  star 
In  your  solemn  far. 
Burning  green  to  white, 
Burning  low  to  Hght, 
Day  and  night. 

Surely  thou  must  be 
The  other  half  of  me; 
What  art  thou  apart 
From  my  spirit's  art. 
From  the  heart? 

Not  another  star 
Whether  near  or  far 


ii84  The  Stars 

Canst  thou  find  or  flee ; 
Thou  canst  call  but  me, 
Only  me. 

There  in  the  still  deep 
Where  pounding  breakers  leap 
From  the  savage  air, 
From  a  sea  of  care, 
Thou  art  there! 

Out  of  a  wild  sky 
Whose  winged  planets  fly 
Up  to  thrones  of  space 
Not  a  heart  can  face. 
Lose  or  trace, 

Into  my  dull  sea 
Plunges  the  soul  of  thee, 
Phantom- wing  of  light, 
To  load  a  sea  of  night 
Full  of  sight. 

Gold  finger  of  the  sea 
Point  me  eternity! 
Show  me  but  a  day, 
But  a  single  ray 
Not  of  clay; 

I  will  follow  on 
When  my  day  is  gone; 
I  will  find  a  way 
By  your  single  ray 
Through  the  clay. 

What  a  world  is  this 
Where  we  slip  amiss 


The  Stars  1185 

With  a  million  spheres 
Flashing  through  our  tears, 
Frowns  and  fears ! 

How  their  ropes  of  light 
Like  ladders  up  the  night 
Bid  me  rise  to  rise 
In  heaven's  lidless  eyes, 
Nightless  skies! 

In  a  single  breath 
Is  the  voice  of  death; 
In  a  moment's  run 
Is  a  clouded  sun 
All  undone; 

But  a  breath  of  thee 
Is  of  eternity; 
Of  some  finer  shore 
Where  life's  longings  soar 
More  and  more. 

Hide  thyself  in  me, 
Star  of  my  infancy; 
And  when  life  drops  low 
In  its  ebb  and  flow. 
Dark  and  glow. 

Softly  skimmer  through 
Evening's  darkest  dew; 
Brush  the  tears  away 
In  a  dash  of  day, 
Happy  day! 


7S 


ELMBANK 

This  river  how  quiet 

As  the  overlording  sky — 

The  river — how  I  stood  by  it 

As  boy  here  those  wonder-days  gone  by 

To  get  the  bank-sweet  and  Swaar-apple  dye, 

A  boy  lost  in  the  growing, 

A  boy  still  for  not  knowing 

Soul  stays  while  man  is  gone  or  going! 

Each  elm  is  in  place, 

Each  one  I  knew  by  name, 

Each  bore  a  popular  grace, 

Unusual  frame 

Of  self-sufficiency 

With  no  deficiency 

In  roundabout  elegant  mien 

Of  its  own  unworldly  swing  and  green. 

By  the  river  bank  was  a  place  to  be  going, 
I  to  be  reaping,  August  sowing 
Wonders  of  heaven  beyond  all  knowing. 

She  too  was  here  then. 
Gentlest  Ellen  Meriden;     .^ 
Not  a  turn  of  any  weather 
But  found  us  hand  in  hand,  and  whether 
Things  turned  well  or  evil  then, 
There  were  we  heart  and  heart  together. 
1 186 


Elmbank  1187 

Twenty  years  now  flown  away, 

And  what  now  to  say 

Have  twenty  years  to  me  this  day 

Save  all  around 

In  sky  or  ground 

All  is  utterly  the  same 

As  then  when  only  concord  came 

And  we  thought  life  just  a  gaining  game. 

By  the  mere  chance,  do  you  think, 

We  are  together  again. 

Gentle  Ellen  and  I  as  then, 

Here  once  more  by  the  Elmbank  brink 

Of  this  our  Deerfoot  river 

Which  leaps  so,  making  misstep  never, 

We  here  by  only  chance, 

Just  haphazard  circumstance 

After  so  long  ago 

We  parted  in  youth,  came  to  know 

World-bubbles  how  they  snap  and  go  ? 

Chance  only,  did  you  say, 

Brought  us  here  this  day  ? 

Clicks  there  the  Law  of  atomic  rock 

Puts  the  atoms  under  lock, 

Yet  never  Law  for  these  hearts 

Holds  them  back  while  life  departs  ? 

For  here  is  aught  worth  thinking  of : 

A  day  is  done,  life  is  enough. 

But  who  is  there  comes  to  an  end  of  love  ? 

Together  we  in  this  bank  of  elms — 
Such  August-hour  overwhelms 
With  Aphrodite  butterfly, 
Scent  of  lily-laden  sky. 


ii88  Elmbank 

Spiral  eagles  in  the  wind, 
Blossoms  to  their  fingers  pinned — 
And  we  talk  over  old  times, 
Catch  the  cattle-bells  in  chimes, 
Cricket  cricketing  his  rhymes. 

We  talk  over  old  times, 

Dear  Ellen  and  I; 

We  talk  of  how  spirit  climbs 

While  men  wilt  and  die; 

How  thought  leaps  beyond  the  ken 

Or  temple-place  of  men ; 

Soul  in  touch  with  what  is  beyond, 

Death  a  day  and  way  to  unbond, 

And  I  say:  "You  were  young 
In  those  young  other  days, 
Lights  in  your  eyes  were  hung, 
Lutes  were  your  lips  for  lays. 
Each  word  galloped  and  sung 
Till  birds  in  the  air  sang  praise 
At  the  way  you  carolled  among 
The  flowers  in  those  days. 

"The  world  goes  by, 
So  many  years 
Leave  signs  of  each  sigh, 
Signs  of  bleaching  tears, 
So  you  may  not  hide 
The  angles  and  arcs 
And  thought  beside 
.     With  ruts  for  marks 

Which  I  see  in  your  cheek, 
Which  I  know  in  your  brow 


Elmbank  11S9 

Of  volumes  to  speak 
If  the  heart  knew  how. 

"  This  world  has  its  own  way, 
Gets  the  most  out  of  youth, 
Ambulant  power,  amputant  truth, 
Heart-laugh,  dimple-play, 
Symmetry  in  cheek  and  hand, 
Beauty  gifted  to  command, 
Spirit  gifted  to  equip — 
Youth  is  king  in  the  lip. 

"How  I  remember 

Our  one  September 

In  such  long  ago. 

You  the  Princess  of  Youth,  nor  ember 

Captured  ever  such  keen  glow 

As  you  held  in  the  brow  and  lip. 

Just  as  you  held  my  heart  that  day — 

How  could  we  think  such  years  must  slip. 

We  to  go  each  by  a  separate  way  ? 

"This  is  the  Elmbank  brook. 

Here  just  we  parted  then. 

Nor  word  of  you  since,  nor  look 

Save  what  I  kept  in  ken 

Of  your  last  word,  meant  to  last 

'Though  this  life  be  overpast. 

While  now  I  see  you  as  you  were  then. 

My  one  flower  in  this  Ulmus-glen, 

Handsomest  Ellen  Meriden ! 

"But  here  is  the  world  to  say 
You  were  young  in  that  day; 


1190  Elmbank 

Here  is  the  world  with  its  truth: 
Man  shall  fasten  to  youth; 
Age  is  a  lip  with  a  pout 
Because  life  is  blown  out, 
Life  is  a  lip  with  an  age 
Like  a  thumb-dotted  page, 
So  I  must  take  kindly  to  youth 
For  the  way  and  the  truth. 

"Am  I  to  listen  to  this, 

I  must  have  such  lips  to  kiss 

As  were  yours  that  evergreen  day 

Your  dimples  made  play. 

Your  heart  kept  in  tune 

Like  a  pinon-jay    . 

In  his  lap  of  noon. 

"Am  I  to  love  you  now, 

This  is  the  world's  receipt : 

You  shall  be  new  in  brow, 

Hand  and  the  eye  complete, 

Your  face  like  a  flower 

Of  such  satin  power 

As  I  plucked  for  you  in  my  garden-hour. 

"All  which  is  young  and  bright 

Captures  heart  and  soul; 

Age  is  a  touch  of  night, 

Is  a  yellowing  jole, 

So  the  world  says 

And  you  mind  what  they  say, 

Mind  their  no  and  yes, 

Mind  their  pigeon-play 

At  truth — this  is  a  world  to  live  in. 


Elmbank  1191 

Never  a  world  to  '  but '  or  '  if '  in, 

Man  meant  only  to  knuckle  and  give  in ! 

"  Did  you  think  just  your  love 

Made  purpose  enough, 

Could  hide  ruts,  hide  scars, 

Hide  the  crow's-foot  that  mars, 

Could  count  an  atom,  count  aught 

After  life  is  an  afterthought 

And  the  two  round  eyes  count  only  nought? 

"Only  the  oldened  face 
Is  left  to  you  now; 
That  brooch  looks  out  of  place 
As  the  smile,  somehow. 
With  neither  dot  nor  trace 
Of  the  young  bright  brow, 
Of  that  keen  careless  care 
About  the  temples,  girlhood  hair 
In  frolic  and  tempestuous  fair. 

"So  my  wise  world  says! 

What  shall  I  do  less 

Than  I  follow  on 

Quite  the  way  the  world  has  gone, 

Value  you  for  the  pink  you  leak 

In  the  ear  and  cheek, 

Wild  side-looks  of  your  young  eyes 

With  their  iris  dyes. 

Or  your  new  sweet-rocket  throat 

At  its  bobolink  note, 

And  I  look,  and  you  are  no  more  there 

As  once,  your  young  triumphant  air 

As  once,  so  siupassing  fair? 


II92  Elmbank 

"  My  world  has  passed  you  by, 
The  world  thunders  on  and  on, 
While  for  aught  I  try  to  spy 
You  are  as  good  as  gone 
By  lack  of  flame  in  the  eye, 
By  want  of  plump  in  the  lip — 
Left  to  you  now  is  only  your  sigh 
That  you  let  the  sweet  world  slip. 

"There  's  the  way  I  must  speak, 
Do  I  think  that  way  too, 
Do  I  love  chin  and  cheek. 
Take  the  eye  for  its  blue, 
Hold  to  your  holding  hand 
For  more  than  tablet  of  sand, 
Count  red  in  the  rounded  lip 
More  than  this  Weigelia-slip 
Dying  soon  as  the  east  winds  nip. 

"Sweet  in  the  rose  is  such 
I  may  not  see  nor  touch ; 
Life  in  the  rose  is  what 
Outleaps  my  leap  of  thought; 
Beauty  too  is  in  place. 
Keeps  its  hand  and  face 
Of  most  masterful  grace, 
Yet  Beauty  is  such 
As  I  may  not  clutch 
Nor  taste  of  nor  touch, 
Nor  carry  about  and  apart 
Save  here  in  my  heart. 

"For  here  is  your  rose  you  gave. 
One  wild  rose,  the  which  you  caught. 


Elmbank  1193 

One  rose  leaning  over  its  grave, 
The  one  you  pulled  and  brought 
To  hand  to  me  that  ox-eyed  day 
We  parted — what  different  ways 
We  took,  what  blame  or  praise, 
Bafflement,  battle-days. 
Yet  here  is  my  rose — see  how 
Only  wrinkles  make  the  brow, 
Only  a  spoon  of  dust  is  now ! 

"Counts  it  the  less  to  me 
Now  no  pink  is  in  sight, 
Nor  a  shape  to  see 
Nor  a  quaff  of  light. 
All  the  smoothe  lip  gone 
And  the  ruffled  puff 
Once  I  doted  on 
And  counted  enough 
Just  before  I  knew 
There  is  more  in  sight 
Than  the  corn-flower  hue 
Or  the  pink  delight  ? 

"If  I  may  not  forget 
What  this  rose  means  to  me, 
Once  with  its  carcanet 
Of  silver  dew  making  free 
With  starlight,  and  now  gone, 
Now  only  dust  to  dote  upon. 
How  more  do  I  look  to  you, 
True  Ellen !     Hearts  are  true 
Right  in  spite  of  what  time  may  do 
To  wither  and  thither  me  or  you! 


1194  Elmbank 

"Soul  is  a  thing  to  outlast 
Any  future,  every  past; 
Makes  more  of  what  is  unseen 
Than  arm-angle,  crocodile  green; 
Peeks  high,  forgets  nothing 
Worth  while,  worth  worthing; 
Values  highest  what  is  best 
Over  above  the  rosiest, 
So  clings  to  eternal  Law 
Of  Beauty  worth  effort  for, 
Of  which  my  love  is  part 
And  I  find  you  so  in  my  heart 

"As  you  were  then 

In  those  young  other  days 

In  this  grass-corner  when 

We  parted  our  ways — 

So  much  has  been  wrought. 

So  much  is  gone  undone 

Since  this  your  rose  you  caught 

At  its  bath  in  the  sun ! 

"Count  the  wrinkles  for  aught? — ■ 

Count  spots  in  the  sun. 

You  remember  them  not 

In  such  light,  nor  a  spot 

But  is  drowned  in  the  run 

Of  such  sheen,  of  such  grace 

Of  warm  light  in  the  face 

"As  is  yours — there  I  only  see 
Soul  in  you — what  to  me 
Count  wrinkles,  plenitude-years 
Making  harvests  of  tears 


Elmbank  1195 

To  bum  chinks  in  the  cheek? — 
They  are  Hps  meant  to  speak 
Of  heart  which  has  grown 
While  fly-days  have  flown, 
Of  sovil  which  largens  the  more 
Wrinkles  come  to  the  fore, 
While  so  I  look  only  to  you 
That  are  lovemost,  are  true; 
Other  Beauty  I  see  in  you 
Outglistens  glistening  eyes, 
Spirit  which  is  more  than  wise — 
Love  looks  higher  than  the  skies. 

"The  sea  in  the  wind  is  tost, 
The  wind  in  the  sea  is  lost — 
Love  goes  and  yet  stays 
Like  the  freshet  of  days, 
As  here  once  more  we  stand 
By  the  brook-road,  hand  in  hand 
As  one,  as  much  one  as  ever, 
Two  for  one  and  forever." 


PEACHAM  PASTURE 


You  think  it  a  soreful  life? 

Never  that,  my  friend  I 

Value  is  in  strife, 

Life  a  means  to  an  end 

Where  all  is  infinite. 

So  I  see  in  it 

Always  a  means  to  a  means 

Beyond  any  dance 

Of  circumstance. 

As  yonder  mountain  careens, 

Over  it  the  moonlight  leans, 

Over  beyond  the  Dog  Star  greens. 

II 

Go  I  this  way,  that  way, 
And  you  think  it  nought 
If  I  watch  a  chat  play 
In  my  apple  plot, 
Or  I  pull  a  Bellis 
Out  of  the  ground. 
While  truth  to  tell  is 
This  truth  I  found: 
Any  one  way  to  go, 
1 196 


Peacham  Pasture  1197 

Any  small  thing  to  do 

Shall  count  more  than  I  know 

At  last  to  me  or  to  you, 

Seeing  each  means  to  an  end, 

And  I  see  no  end  at  all, 

And  the  great  on  the  small  depend, 

So  I  see  this  truth — there  is  no  small. 

Ill 

This  for  the  nature  of  things, 

Nature's  nature — so 

I  see  how  order  clings 

To  order,  and  if  or  no 

My  world  seem  to  go  wrong, 

If  I  have  lost  my  friend. 

If  opposing  force  be  strong. 

If  chaos  look  like  the  end, 

For  this  truth  comes  to  my  call: 

If  I  suspect  I  see 

Disorder  in  sublimity, 

I  know  I  do  not  see  at  all. 

IV 

Did  you  think  blundering  chance 

Took  a  hand  in  the  game 

Of  infinite  circumstance 

Which  poises  flame 

In  the  zenith  ether, 

Puts  always  a  star 

Beyond  a  star, 

Man  the  sun-bom  breather 

Of  Heaven  to  sleep,  to  dream, 

To  wake  to  one  day  find 


1 198  Peacham  Pasture 

Things  are  soul  fuller  than  they  seem, 
Man  is  vaster  than  he  divined? 


For  now  I  lean  at  her  gate — 

See  how  the  truth  holds  true 

There  *s  neither  small  nor  great 

Outside  the  soul  in  you — 

Now  the  night  hour  is  late, 

One  star  poses,  points 

Where  I  so  lean  at  her  gate 

Just  as  the  moon  anoints 

The  waves  in  her  bronzen  hair — 

Thus  the  night  is  on 

And  the  world  is  gone, 

Yet  I  and  my  Philomel  are  there. 

VI 

She  takes  me  so  to  task 
For  the  one  thing  I  ask. 
Her  heart,  her  all  there  is 
Of  soul's  stupendous  mysteries 
Of  unworldly  thought : 
I  'm  too  cold,  she  thinks, 
I  make  my  way  by  force 
Of  knowledgeable  kinks. 
While  so,  for  matter  of  course, 
I  play  my  understudy  part, 
I  make  love  by  rules  of  art, 
I  lack  genius  of  the  heart ! 

VII 

And  this  because  I  keep 
My  heart  so  out  of  sight 


Peacham  Pasture  1199 

She  thinks  there  's  nought  to  reap 
In  me  save  my  love  of  Right, 
As  if  a  man  may  show 
His  heart  as  a  nickel  flips, 
And  there  the  consuming  glow 
Bums  the  words  on  his  lips ! 

VIII      ' 

So  I  have  to  say  not  much ; 

I  waste  my  soul  in  sighs; 

The  wide  moon  adds  not  a  touch 

Of  Heaven  to  her  widened  eyes 

As  plump  in  the  pasture  is  seen 

My  rival — he  comes  our  way, 

As  plain  it  is  he  has  been 

To  hunt  the  plover,  to  slay 

The  cyprus-bird  in  his  song, 

Pick  his  throat  out,  make  play 

Of  slaughter,  nor  he  counts  the  wrong. 

IX 

Comes  the  straight  man  so  proud 
As  a  militant  chief, 
Boasts  his  crack  shot,  is  loud 
In  his  pompous  belief 
He  can  kill  at  first  sight 
By  his  magic  of  might; 
Boasts  he  took  him  on  the  wing 
In  between  his  ballading; 
Then  turns  to  my  Philomel 
As  if  to  his  one  matross, 
Harkens  for  the  tenor-bell 
Could  ring  in  her  applause, 


I200  Peacham  Pasture 

Looks  for  delight  to  rise 

To  dance  to  pieces  in  her  eyes. 


Is  he  not  whittled  in  limb 

Fine  as  a  fawn  could  be, 

The  strong  clean  eye  in  him, 

Head  up  in  supremacy 

Of  tall  carriage,  popular  power, 

Fortune  sticking  to  his  hour, 

And  what  will  she  do, 

Will  she  praise  him  so  high 

For  the  shot  he  threw, 

For  the  sigh  he  drew 

From  singing  lintie  about  to  die  ? 


XI 


He  so  tall  and  so  fine 

As  a  star  will  shine; 

I  otherwise,  never  made 

To  conquer  by  big  brigade 

Of  circumstantial  dash. 

My  heart  cornered  in  my  sash, 

So  he  will  take  her  eye, 

And  then  he  will  take  her  soul. 

While  I  am  left  to  my  sigh, 

I  play  subordinate  r61e 

Because  I  have  only  to  say, 

In  my  undervalued  way, 

"I  could  not  kill  the  beautiful  bird 

Fine  as  Heaven,  for  Heaven  is  heard 

Again  and  again  in  his  bugle- word. 


Peacham  Pasture  1201 

XII 

"Little  pretty  amber  bird 

In  his  violet  fire, 

Nevermore  shall  he  be  heard 

To  lead  his  April  choir 

Of  a  soft  morning — he  hangs 

Pinned  in  the  huntsman's  belt, 

Past  and  gone  are  his  pangs, 

Gone  the  one  frenzy  he  felt 

Once  he  straightened  and  knelt 

To  give  me  his  magic  note 

All  the  world  could  never  quote — 

Now  not  a  breath  in  store, 

Opal  feathers  to  drop  his  gore, 

And  the  pith  of  sweetness  is  no  more. " 

XIII 

Right  as  I  say  this  much 
She  drops  his  cardinal  quamoclit 
He  gave  her,  as  if  the  touch 
Smuggled  blood  and  death  in  it ; 
Drops  her  brow,  avoids  his  look 
As  if  it  wore  the  huntsman's  hook. 
Turns  to  me,  gives  me  her  eyes 
With  their  new  wonderful  surprise 
Like  blue  looks  out  of  exalted  skies — 
Now  we  both  understand. 
She  comes  my  way,  takes  my  hand, 
Gives  me  her  one  look  so  true 
To  say:  I  now  see  clearly  too, 
I  now  see  you  through  and  through. 
For  now  I  see  your  heart  in  you. 
76 


I202  Peacham  Pasture 

XIV 

Just  a  little  bird, 

Half  a  tiny  word 

And  the  thing  is  done: 

Cruelty  is  on  the  run, 

I  have  captured  her  heart — 

So  the  jewel-flower  is  won 

To  cling  and  finger  in  the  sun 

Just  by  my  mastersport 

Of  soulfulness  with  not  an  art, 

To  show,  as  I  say,  above  all 

'Round  about  the  worlds  I  see 

Is  only  magnanimity, 

Is  one  vast  truth — there  is  no  small. 


EWIGZEITGEIST 


SuRCMER  is  up  and  gone, 

Toughened  Fall  is  on, 

Yet  what  care  I? — I  know  truth, 

Fall  is  another  kind  of  youth; 

Fields  will  be  snow-blown  soon, 

Winds  white-eyed — I  know  the  festoon 

Of  dead  muscatel,  what  it  means 

By  the  way  it  looks  and  leans 

Blown  out — so  likewise  I  know 

Naked  branches  of  the  trees 

Are  the  bones  of  summer — so 

I  know  this  cold  whistling  breeze 

Teaches  the  dead  leaves  to  sneeze 

In  the  underbrush — what  care  I, 

Seeing  I  know  my  own  truth. 

Life  is  one  perfect  way  to  die. 

So  death  means  more  than  life,  than  I, 

So  Fall  is  another  kind  of  youth. 

What  soul  goes  gifted  to  forget 
Swinging  box  of  mignonette, 
Swinging  wind  in  the  blind 
Of  his  boy-home  he  put  behind? 
Do  I  forget  how  it  was. 
How  my  towhee  would  pue 
1203 


I204  Ewigzeitgeist 

In  between  hawks  and  daws? 

Is  my  young  life  performed,  perdue? 

For  look,  I  am  back  here  now, 

Look  how  I  know  this  place 

Of  the  overlording  brow 

Of  Lantern  Hill,  crow-flocks  in  chase 

Of  breath- weather,  this  morning  to  make 

Bees  whistle,  corn-tassels  shake, 

And  I  am  back  at  it  and  so  full 

As  once  I  was  here  as  boy, 

Overloaded  with  country  joy — 

But  now  I  have  too  this  sore 

To  think  such  days  will  come  no  more, 

The  while  I  'm  full  as  then  I  was 

Of  joy  to  watch  the  eagle  pause 

In  his  spotted  heaven — yet  I 

Wear  more  soul  than  as  boy  before, 

For  now  I  draw  my  down-deep  sigh 

Thinking  those  days  will  come  no  more. 

As  boy  I  stood  so  satisfied 
If  a  day  came,  if  a  day  died, 
So  my  half -heart  never  sighed. 
Now  I  have  such  wonderful  past 
To  look  to,  I  look  aghast 
To  find  what  trinkets  I  saw 
Worth  while,  worth  my  weeping  for. 
Grown  small  as  capers  of  a  mouse. 
My  guinea-grass,  jumble-bird  house 
Or  what  not,  as  I  saw  things  then 
Leap  wider  than  the  eyes  of  men, 
And  I  have  been  man  so  long. 
Counted  my  gains  among  men. 
Considered  me  wise  and  strong. 


Ewigzeitgeist  1205 

Planted  in  my  meridian, 

Yet  now  am  I  forced  to  confess 

Life  is  neither  more  nor  less 

To  me  than  that  day  it  was 

I  stopped  to  watch  the  eagle  pause — 

This  difference  just :  I  as  the  boy 

Wearied  lastly  of  each  toy, 

So  I  shouted  to  be  man, 

To  make  my  way  terranean 

To  outrival  men,  to  tower, 

Example  unexampled  power. 

While  now  as  man  I  would  be  back 

At  my  nimble  finger-knack 

Of  so  untwisting  a  flower 

As  to  make  the  most  of  it, 

Never  to  think  of  my  power. 

Nor  ever  once  to  boast  of  it 

How  I  the  child  in  the  field 

Sat  cuddled,  while  people  came 

To  kneel  to  me  and  to  yield, 

To  join  me  in  my  sun-god  game. 

Go  my  way,  yet  knew  not  my  name. 

Enough  for  them  that  they  knew 

I  was  sun-laurelled — warm  and  true. 

Longed  I  as  boy  to  be  man; 

As  man  I  long  to  be  boy ; 

There  's  this  life  at  a  span. 

There  's  this  world  for  a  toy 

I  play  at,  the  while  I  grow 

More  than  congressments  can  show. 

For  am  I  not  vaster  than  the  life 

I  so  completely  surpass 


i2o6  Ewigzeitgeist 


By  my  strong  love  of  strife, 
Of  the  back  teeth  which  it  has 
To  grind  me  shaplier  ?     Lo, 
See  how  I  come  and  I  go 
Back  and  forth,  how  as  man 
I  would  be  the  boy  again. 
How  as  boy  I  leap  to  plan 
To  fly  to  man's  meridian — 
Back  and  forth  so — there  I  shuttle 
Like  the  bee-fly  in  a  bottle, 
To  know,  as  the  fly  knows  too. 
There  's  the  outside  mightier  view 
Of  universes,  captures  us  two. 

If  both  ends  of  life  answer  so  small 

Once  I  come  to  question  it  all, 

The  while  I  am  here  to  know 

How,  whether  I  go  back  to  youth. 

Or  youth  to  complete  stature  grow, 

I  knock  about  between  youth  and  man 

To  find  I  hold  the  larger  span. 

Am  wider  than  the  thing  I  see, 

I  mingle  with  eternity 

To  know  of  this :  I  am  what 

I  seize  at,  there  can  be  nought 

Without  me  is  worth  the  thought, 

Since,  whatever  shape  I  cake  it, 

My  life  is  the  thing  I  make  it 

To  the  dot's  dottle — so  I  have  this 

For  extract,  as  my  meaning  is: 

I  countenance  my  supreming  soul, 

I  outkingdom  the  reigning  whole 

Of  grig-life  of  hop  and  pelf, 

So  I  know  I  'm  the  thing  itself. 


Ewigzcitgeist  1207 

II 

Ellen  Belle  Amber  to-day, 

Beautiful  Belle  Ellen's  way, 

Carols  her  thought  like  a  robin's  lay 

And  I  am  waiting — I  hark  for  her — 

So  I  hark  if  the  roses  stir, 

I  take  their  steps  for  the  steps  of  her. 

She  is — could  it  matter  where, 

So  she  drinks  the  maple  air 

And  her  plentiful  heart  is  everywhere  ? 

I  am  wondering  to  know  what  a  place 

The  world  would  be  without  her  face 

Of  such  unworldly  wonderful  grace. 

Down  in  his  cajuput  tree 

Larks  the  lark  so  loftily, 

His  heart  in  touch  with  the  heart  in  me, 

I  know  his  lip  of  song  to  be  one 

With  spirit,  for  the  note  will  run 

After  his  lip  is  untuned,  is  done, 

For  comes  the  fine  song  in  me 

As  it  came  out  of  his  tree 

To  mould  each  wind  into  melody 

And  I  am  here,  or  I  may  be  there. 

And  he  has  never  a  lip  to  spare. 

While  the  song  he  sang  is  everywhere. 

Counts  he  more  than  part  of  me, 

Once  I  gather  up  his  glee 

So  he  is  all  I  may  hear  or  see  ? 

There  he  clings  like  the  primrose  in  bole, 

Yet  through  us  both  gallops  unique  soul, 

While  what  am  I  save  the  galloping  whole  ? 


i2o8  Ewigzeitgeist 

So  my  Belle  Ellen  is  so 

I  have  her,  careless  if  I  go 

Or  come,  for  here  is  a  thing  I  know: 

Each  ripe  morning  I  hark  for  her 

In  where  the  leaves  of  roses  stir 

To  know  their  lips  are  the  lips  of  her, 

As  I  know  soul  is  about 

In  any  tulip- joint  or  pout, 

Yet  past  catching,  past  finding  out. 

So  then  I  know  the  elfin  is  such 

As  puts  the  disjointed  world  in  touch, 

Never  companion  like  it  such. 

I  am  the  snow-peak  that  shines. 
Am  the  tuft  of  jacobines ; 
I  the  one  spirit  which  divines 
Crocodile  green  in  a  curlew's  eye, 
Passwords  if  the  tall  winds  sigh — 
What  then  are  they  unless  I  am  I? 

More's  in  the  twitch  of  a  wink 
Than  I  brood  at  or  you  think 
Who  overlook  the  interlink 
One  atom  is — will  you  doubt  it. 
Knowing  the  songs  of  starlings  shout  it, 
Great  Cosmos  could  not  inch  without  it  ? 

Goes  and  comes  this  soul  in  man 

As  in  any  ortolan 

Mooning  in  sky  Elysian 

To  try  to  outgeneral  worlds,  to  dot 

The  heavens  like  one  triumphant  spot 

Of  Beauty  never  to  be  forgot. 


Ewigzeitgeist  1209 


I  hark  for  my  rose  again, 
Which  dangles  in  bush  and  rain, 
To  get  the  meaning — I  get  it  plain, 
This:  Just  a  whisper,  one  tiny  stir 
The  lip  makes,  and  I  cannot  err, 
I  know  it  for  the  whisper  of  her, 

My  Belle  Ellen — so  she  stays 

As  the  undiminished  days, 

Carols  her  thought  like  the  robin's  lays 

Out  of  all  soul,  so  truly  I  see. 

Which  way  soever  the  flesh  may  flee, 

She  is  my  very  soul  in  me. 


THE  INDICTMENT 


Down  underground, 

So  too  overhead, 
I  've  the  teeth  of  a  hound, 

I  've  the  blue  of  the  dead 
And  the  cold  as  well, 

I  've  the  humor  of  Hell 
To  cudgel  and  slay, 

I  've  the  dog  in  me 
Of  deformity, 

The  dog  and  to  have  his  day. 

II 

Red  hands — blood  red, 

For  so  it  is 
The  blood  of  the  dead, 

And  the  crime  is  his 
And  the  hands  are  mine. 

And  the  fault  is  his 
And  the  knife  and  spine 

And  butchery  are  mine  and  mine. 

Ill 

Up  to  the  peak 

Of  ugly  thought 

I2I0 


The  Indictment  1211 

I  glutton  my  freak, 

I  daub  my  blot 
Of  blood  in  the  cheek 

Of  her  girleen  grace — 
So  runs  the  streak 

Down  her  handsome  face- 
In  under  the  hair 

The  eyes  are  there 
At  their  glassen  stare — 

IV 

So  runs  the  cripple, 

The  demon  in  me, 
Shoulders  put  triple. 

Put  niggardly. 
As,  lo,  my  nowl 

To  the  breast  is  bent 
Just  as  my  soul 

Is  pinched  and  pent. 
Pity  as  thin 

As  the  spider's  heart 
And  his  poison  fin 

And  his  butcher's  art. 


My  rival  he, 

Mastrous  straight 
As  majesty 

And  smoothe  as  plate, 
Polish  to  new 

His  lively  look, 
Hair  under  glue. 

Collar  to  cook 


12 12  The  Indictment 

So  the  end  in  view 
Be  the  end  of  you 

In  a  match  of  pleats 
And  ribbon  feats. 

VI 

He  has  his  day 

Of  love  with  her, 
And  I  must  delay, 

I  must  not  stir, 
I  But  watch  him  take 

His  cup  of  bliss, 
Behold  him  slake 

His  thirst  and  kiss 
Her  mouth  and  eyes 

And  pigeonwise 
His  love  display 

Each  day  to  day 
To  make  her  his  prize 

His  champion  way. 

VII 

The  cripple  I, 

By  way  of  birth, 
Of  my  quarried  eye. 

Of  my  crooked  girth, 
I  could  never  say 

"I  love  you  too, 
I  've  the  dimple-play, 

Apollo-thew, 
I  've  the  iris  guise, 

So  give  me  your  eyes 
For  my  picture-book 

And  my  hungry  look"- 


The  Indictment  1213 

For  so  I  should  see 

My  look  in  there 
Of  the  hungry  stare 

Of  deformity. 

VIII 

Like  as  the  thought 

In  me  is  so  small 
As  to  question  not 

But  the  girl  is  all 
My  world  to  be  got, 

And  whether  or  not 
The  kit  I  stew  in 

Shall  run  me  to  ruin, 
So  my  heart  is  past 

In  a  single  hour 
As  the  single  flower 

In  a  winter  blast, 
While  all  I  see 

In  my  drunken  whirl, 
For  the  life  of  me, 

Is  my  prize — the  girl! 

IX 

There  stands  the  Law 

Which  made  me  so 
Of  porbeagle  jaw, 

Quohog  toe: 
I  get  the  thing 

From  broods  of  men 
In  the  years  before 

All  reckoning ; 
Spring-time  then 


12 14  The  Indictment 

Of  a  world  to  grow, 
A  beginning  when 

Men  thought  to  go 
This  way  askew, 

That  way  awry, 
To  crush  what  is  true, 

To  hate  what  is  high. 


So  only  sent 

Their  soul  askew 
From  prosperment, 

From  truencss  too; 
Cultured  what  look 

The  pit-viper  has, 
Took  his  oily  crook, 

His  nasty  mass, 
And  just  by  the  Law 

Of  progeny 
Handed  their  cloven  claw 

To  me. 
Handed  their  spilth 

Of  villainy, 
Vileness  and  filth 

To  me. 

XI 

This  is  the  cellar-pit. 

This  where  she  died, 

I  here  to  tell  of  it. 
Tell  how  I  lied   , 

By  my  trashy  note, 
Tell  how  I  tied 


The  Indictment  1215 

My  thumbs  in  her  throat: 

If  I  may  not  have  her, 
So  shall  not  he 

By  his  puff-palaver, 
His  eaglery, 

His  elegant  pate 
Of  Roman  speech, 

All  out  of  reach 
Of  my  muzzled  gait. 

XII 

My  thumbs  in  her  throat, 

My  teeth  in  her  face, 
How  I  tore  and  I  smote 

The  blood  from  its  place 
On  the  pillow  of  thought, 

Her  thought  of  him 
In  his  lucky  lot. 

In  his  fawnish  limb — 
Her  teeth  I  sowed 

In  the  cellar  air 
Till  the  dark  pit  glowed. 

Mocked  at  her  stare. 
Fingered  and  toed 

In  her  blood  and  hair — 

XIII 

"Take  that,"  said  I, 

"Take  that  and  that, 
Learn  you  to  die 

As  the  hounded  rat. 
Learn  you  that  I 

Am  the  horned  bat 


i2i6  The  Indictment 

To  stifle,  to  kill, 

To  ftdl  fulfill 
The  beast  in  me, 

My  savagery, 
My  dragon  spell, 

Learn  you  to  see 
The  fire  in  me 

Of  all  blazing  Hell!" 

XIV 

Now  you  may  have  her, 

You  of  the  pipe 
Of  handsome  palaver. 

Handsomer  stripe — 
Have  her  so  now. 

Take  her  to  keep 
Of  the  broken  brow 

And  mended  sleep; 
She  will  not  waver 

Between  us  two, 
So  you  shall  have  her 

The  eons  through — 
Here  's  luck  to  you 

And  your  pretty  bride 
Whose  look  is  new 

As  the  eyes  are  wide 
And  all  for  you. 

All  the  death  inside! 

XV 

But  you  of  the  past, 
Yours  be  the  fault 


The  Indictment  12 17 

Who  gave  me  my  ghast 

Of  heinous  halt! 
You  drove  your  soul 

Awry,  askew, 
Then  gave  me  the  whole 

Hell-hound  in  you 
For  a  legacy 

Of  supremacy 
Of  putrid  thought. 

Of  monsterly  blot 
On  my  blasted  lot ! 

XVI 

Your  way  you  took. 

Never  thought  of  me 
In  my  ugly  crook 

Of  deformity 
To  come  after  you 

By  the  straight  descent, 
By  the  Law  of  true 

Equivalent : 
Be  you  your  wor^ 

And  the  thing  is  curst; 
Be  you  your  best 

And  the  thing  is  blest; 
Anyway  strike, 

To  weather,  to  lee. 
Like  begets  like 

Eternally. 

XVII 


And  the  pith  of  it  all 
That  I  am  so  small 
77 


i2i8  The  Indictment 

As  the  soul  in  you 

From  which  I  grew 
To  a  cloven  claw 

Just  to  ripen  for 
Murder  by  beast  of  heart 

To  hate,  to  play  my  part 
Of  vulture,  crocodile  art — 

And  this  her  grave 
In  the  cellar  air, 

I  the  plain  knave 
To  put  her  there 

For  my  devil's  whim 
And  my  withered  limb — 

And  I  so  small 
Because  you  were  so  small, 

And,  oh,  the  pity  of  it  all! 


BATTLE 

To  horse  and  to  arms, 
To  the  gallop  of  feet, 
Hail  to  destruction  of  calms, 
Make  you  the  killing  of  men  complete — 
Wild-eyed  dreaming  to  spill 
Blood — what  a  genius  to  kill ! — 
To  arms  and  to  horse, 
Snaffle  to  snap  the  teeth  of  remorse, 
Sprinkle  the  planet  with  teeth, 
Never  brother  be  left  to  breathe- 
To  the  banner  in  blue, 
To  the  hornet  in  you 
To  right  about  face 
B}^  level  quick. 
Make  a  landing-place 
For  your  killing-pick — 
On  to  the  thickets 
Of  men,  to  the  pickets 
Of  men,  of  snivelling  slaves 
Drinking  health  in  their  graves — 
On  to  the  clinch  and  they  come 
To  the  lash  of  a  drum 
To  the  spot,  to  Hell  for  a  spot 
To  bury  all  human-hearted  thought — 
Now  to  the  shoulder  to  draw 
Sword  against  great  compassion-law 
1219 


I2  20  Battle 

And  they  spit  to  strike, 

Hand  to  hand, 

Send  the  marUn-spike 

Through  lung  and  gland 

The  way  the  dead  will  understand — 

Fast  to  your  clinch 

In  a  brother's  throat 

Nor  he  yield  an  inch 

Till  you  spill  his  note 

As  never  tornado  tore  and  smote — 

Pick  in  the  eyes, 

Gouge  greatness  out, 

Blacken  his  skies 

Of  noble  doubt 

To  make  your  feast  of  snarl  and  flout— 

Champion  General,  let  him  swing 

His  axe,  never  shrug  at  the  thing 

So  his  great  glory  pipe  and  ring — 

Pull  at  your  mounted  clarion. 

Pump  the  tunes  out  of  pipes, 

Urge  the  devil  in  them  on 

For  love  of  stars  and  stripes, 

Love  of  the  stripes  they  feel, 

Love  of  the  stars  they  see 

If  you  fetch  them  a  wipe  of  your  steel 

By  the  powers  that  be — 

For  love  of  Cathedral  God 

There  leaps  the  field  ablaze, 

Leaps  the  hungry  sun  in  their  blood — 

Short  the  breath  of  their  days 

Now  they  tumble  to  scud 

To  skirt  the  field  of  your  bullet-flood 

For  fingers  to  spare, 

Junkets  of  skulls 


Battle 

To  crowd  the  air 
Like  navies  of  gulls, 
Ankles  and  gullets  to  fly- 
To  shock  all  ample  quiet  sky     * 
To  watch  them  swink  and  sink  and  die, 
And  the  thing  is  done 

And  your  freedom  won — 

What  count  brothers  dead  and  gone? 

Pale  looks  the  moon  aloit, 

Pale  as  they  lie  in  the  sand 

In  the  mix  of  her  amber  flood 

And  they  lie  in  their  blanket  of  blood, 

Tenants  of  crop  and  croft 

To  put  out  each  wilted  hand 

To  motion  farewell 

To  you  Hounds  of  Hell, 

Farewell  to  their  pleasant  land — 

No  more  for  them  the  sun  and  the  sand! 

This  to  be  Christian, 

This  to  be  kind,  i 

Such  be  your  mission 

Of  heart  and  mind 

To  put  your  love  of  love  behind. 

And  you  shall  live  to  croon  and  boast 

You  parted  Body  and  God  and  Ghost. 

Here  is  battle — you  may  have  it 
For  the  sumptuous  glory  of  it 
To  make  way  and  make  great, 
Make  good  your  pompous  bulls  of  state 
By  all  that  is  last  and  least  in  you, 
Hell  and  the  wolf- wild  beast  in  you ! 


I22I 


TO  WHOM  IT  MAY  CONCERN 


Such  a  southernish  afternoon, 

I  in  West  Meadow  Road, 
The  road  in  show-shalloon 

Of  thistles  tilted  k  la  mode, 
I  of  a  mind  to  go 

Where  goes  the  road,  any  way  so 
I  come  to  time  to  unlink 

From  labor — my  day  to  think, 
To  unpocket,  unmask. 

Catch  a  brook  by  the  brink, 
A  suckerel  at  his  task 

Of  poising  to  bowl  or  bask 
In  his  pumping  river. 

Shooting  like  a  fretted  sliver, 
His  life  one  delightful  quiver. 

II 

I  take  to  the  road; 

I  rather  not  know  which  way  it  goes; 
Behind  me  I  leave  my  load 

Of  thought — this  south  wind  blows 
At  nothing  more  than  to  peel 

My  care  off  so  I  clip  and  reel 
As  the  wind  does,  this  way  or  that. 

To  swamp  a  flower,  float  a  chat, 


To  Whom  It  May  Concern  1223 

Pull  my  breath  in,  let  it  go 

Just  to  let  Creation  know 
Breath  may  come,  breath  may  go, 

But  soul  is  come  to  stay,  while  so 
I  am  off  to  the  river-arc 

Which  paddles  between  sun  and  park 
To  get  the  leap  of  counterspark. 


Ill 


What  my  thought  is  who  shall  say  ? 

Thought  that  life  is  to-day 
To  unearth  unusual  surprise 

To  custom  my  widening  eyes 
To  see  where  uncounted  planets  play 

More  than  comes  of  being  wise 
Or  knowledgeable  man, 

Knowledge  to  trick  and  pick  and  plan ; 
Thought  that  I  am  meant  to  poke 

My  neck  in  no  kind  of  yoke, 
But  go  untanglefooted  free 

To  my  complete  supremacy. 


IV 


One  God-bird  at  his  fytte 

And  I  listen  for  it 
In  this  frescade  of  a  tree. 

He  head  over  head  in  glee 
To  shout  his  soul  out  so  for  me 

And  I  listen — just  ahead 
Another  quality  of  note 

So  much  finer  is  trumpeted 
That  never  lip  could  quote 


1224  To  Whom  It  May  Concern 

The  unimpeachable  sound 
Tap  to  tap,  as  if  the  ground 

Dropped  whispers  which  were  heavenward-bound, 
But  my  way  drifting,  till  I  knew 

I  was  heavenward-drifted  too. 


For  now  in  the  road  before 

Comes  such  a  maiden  to  see 
A  man  could  not  look  for  more 

Of  Beauty  in  the  galaxy 
Of  un computed  skies, 

Such  unworldish  worthfulness 
Planted  in  such  violet  eyes 

The  capital  sky  looks  nothingness 
Matched  with  such  human  prize 

As  holds  me  to  look  so  straight, 
The  while  she  comes  my  way, 

There  's  but  to  love  and  contemplate, 
There  's  not  to  do,  to  say. 


VI 


Spirits  talk — be  sure  of  that — 

For,  now  she  is  passing  by, 
There  's  one  thing  we  level  at. 

Thought  in  the  talking  eye, 
As  she  so  looks  to  me 

Out  of  such  eyelash  light. 
By  Heaven  there  's  Heaven  to  see 

Just  there  in  her  leap  of  sight 
As  now  she  catches  my  look, 

Reads  the  volume,  drops  the  book 


To  Whom  It  May  Concern  1225 

Right  as  such  longing  flies 

To  longing  between  our  eyes, 
And  so  she  passes  on, 

And  so  my  Heaven  is  come  and  gone. 

VII 

Did  you  think  that  about  all 

Soul  with  wings  could  do. 
Fly  to  your  beck  and  call 

Of  worded  lip,  picture  tattoo, 
While  never  an  answer  to  what 

Lies  behind  this  master-thought 
That  I  am  to  play  my  part 

Of  lording  and  unlorded  heart 
Beyond  the  atoms  to  go 

As  thought  is  high,  Earth  is  low  ? 

VIII 

Sweet  Lady,  take  this  to  your  thinking 

If  you  be  thinking  of  me  : 
Stars  go  blinking-winking 

Their  Hght  of  eternity; 
Sky  to  sky  is  buttoned  so 

One  sky  spreads  what  sheet  of  glow 
Will  fail  us  never,  never  go ; 

Heaven  to  Heaven  was  buttoned  so 
This  day  I  saw  you  come  and  go 

I  know  the  deepness  of  it  plies 
Higher  and  lastinger  than  skies. 

IX 

Thought  is  ample,  place  is  wide, 

Worlds  go  spinning  beyond  end ; 


1226  To  Whom  It  May  Concern 

Has  my  friend,  as  you  see  it,  died, 

Yet  am  I  to  have  my  friend. 
For  friendship  is  a  thing  to  endure. 

Else  could  there  be  no  friendship  sure 
Of  being — love  will  depend 

On  endlessness — do  I  lose  my  friend, 
Then  counts  love  nothing  in  the  end, 

While,  look  you  through  the  romping  air, 
There  's  no  "nothing"  anywhere. 


Who  shall  know  what  is  begun 

In  one  day  under  the  sun? 
There  was  your  faithful  face, 

I  under  my  lone  tree, 
Yet  not  all  time  and  place 

Shall  steal  your  one  look  from  me. 
Go  where  you  will,  who  e'er  you  be. 

Read  this  you  may  on  a  time, 
My  rough-ended  tilt  of  rhyme. 

To  know  me  somehow,  some  yet — 
Who  is  there  ever  may  forget? 

Come  when  you  will  or  where 
To  find  me,  sure  as  April  air 

Waits  the  blossom  I  '11  be  there 
Waiting  and  waiting  everywhere ! 


TWO  NOTES  OF  A  THRUSH 

Draw  up  the  shade,  dear, 
Night  is  pale  as  death ; 
This  red  bom  morn  hath  drawn  a  breath 
Across  my  meadows  in  the  clear, 

For  life  is  near. 

Hearken  to  the  thrush; 
His  note  is  low,  lisps 
Like  autumn  winds  in  naked  wisps, 
To  second  the  mill-wheel's  muffled  gush 

Which  whispers  ' '  hush ! ' ' 

No  breath  of  a  sound ; 
The  doctor  came  and  went 
As  one  whose  will  must  not  relent 
'Though  not  a  thread  of  hope  be  wound 

Above  the  ground. 

Mute  all  night  he  lay, 
As  deaf  to  every  word 
As  if  new  other  lips  were  heard ; 
Some  matchless  echo  of  a  lay 

Far  deeps  away. 

How  his  faithful  locks 
Like  ivies  cling  to  creep 
About  the  temple  of  his  sleep 
At  which  the  grum  centurion  knocks, 

Spits  and  mocks. 


1228  Two  Notes  of  a  Thrush 

Lift  his  talking  doll ; 
She  does  not  look  nor  speak 
Sorrows  of  the  wise  and  weak; 
It  may  be  he  will  hear  her  call 

Above  us  all. 

How  his  life  is  fled 
With  a  handful  of  days, 
As  all  his  steps  and  plays 
Broke  but  one  willowed  path  which  led 

Among  the  dead! 

In  his  small  hour  here 
He  never  knew  of  death: 
His  was  one  gentlest  morning  breath 
Across  my  meadows  in  the  clear, 

For  life  was  near. 

Would  we  too  had  kept 
The  true  fine  simple  way 
Which  bears  apart  from  drowsy  clay 
To  where  such  feet  as  his  have  stept 

While  worlds  have  slept. 

Soon  shall  we  be  free 
To  take  our  journey  too, 
One  hard  long  way  in  search  of  you — 
How  many  wandering  worlds  ere  we 

May  come  to  thee! 

Soft,  he  wakes  in  sleep; 
Oh,  see  his  closing  eyes 
Like  yon  last  stars  in  morning  skies 
That  sink  away,  yet  watches  keep 

Beyond  the  deep ! 


Two  Notes  of  a  Thrush  1229 

There,  don't  sorrow,  dear, 
But  hearken  to  the  thrush ; 
He  swings  his  new  note  from  the  bush, 
His  song  of  promise  wild  and  clear, 

For  death  is  near. 


TO  MY  FOREFATHERS 


Never  were  ye  forgot, 

Not  in  the  romp  of  unbridled  time 

Which  trod  you  under  foot  and  under  ground! 

Be  my  way  this  or  that, 

My  luck  forward  or  backward  bent, 

Days  of  bold  brilliant  fashion. 

Or  blunted  as  winter  math. 

Comes  there  this  value  to  mark  my  thought, 

That,  be  the  route  what  it  may. 

Fat  option  or  lean  and  hungry  lot. 

Ye  never  were  forgot. 

II 

The  raw  globe  for  all  it  is 
Prowls  about  vaulted  precipice 
Of  fostrous  skies,  where  not 
One  atom  goes  begging  for  life, 
Where  nothing  is  forgot. 
Ye  are  to  me  myself. 
Ye  of  whom  I  am  come, 
Sinew  and  thought  and  elf. 
That  I  be  not  sunken  dumb 
Where  I  stop  to  think  of  you 
In  this  sombre  evening  view, 
1230 


To  My  Forefathers  1231 

This  here  where  the  field  flowers  brought 
Charm  to  you  and  peace  of  thought, 
Flowers  I  pull  in  the  dusk  for  you, 
Rocket  and  forget-me-not, 
Which  I  lay  here  where  you  sleep 
Tucked  in  such  wondrous  dumb  and  deep. 

Ill 

Plow  and  corn-house  hang  about 
In  dalmatics  of  red  rust ; 
Wait  they  their  day  to  follow  you 
To  your  empire  of  dust  and  dew. 
I  make  them  my  friends,  and  then 
I  take  them  all  thought  to  heart 
For  the  time  when  you  too  were  men, 
So  played  your  live  unlorded  part. 

IV 

Inseparable,  you  and  I ; 

Make  we  not  one  in  the  main? 

I  wear  your  shape  of  hand ;  your  eye 

Saw  as  I  see  what  great  domain 

Lies  outside  the  tread  of  rain 

And  prop  of  surprising  grass 

To  welcome  you,  to  welcome  me 

To  what  I  look  to  fathom  to  be. 

Part  of  entire  reality. 

Part  of  unlimitable  thought 

To  know  ye  never  were  forgot. 


You  held  the  plow,  I  hold  the  helm 
The  way  the  poplar  points,  while  yet 


1232  To  My  Forefathers 

I  have  your  watcrmill,  your  elm, 

That  never  I  may  forget 

What  virtue  put  you  in  arms, 

What  Tightness  you  played  your  ways 

For  that  love  of  it  which  charms 

Beyond  this  one  mouthful  of  days, 

Till  I  am  come  to  unlearn 

What  I  of  myself  may  be. 

And  so  I  look  to  you — I  turn 

Back  to  your  supremity 

Of  pluck  in  the  open  field. 

Of  such  honest  fearless  conceit 

As  gave  you  your  harvest  yield 

Of  soul  with  an  aim  in  view. 

Of  life  in  the  flower  and  sweet. 

Of  purpose  to  do  bold  and  true. 

All  the  best  and  most  of  you — 

While  just  to  think  of  it  that  we 

Come  heir  to  your  divinity ! 

VI 

Humble  moons  in  the  south  zenith 

Go  buried  out  of  my  sight ; 

'T  is  not  that  they  are  not  there, 

'Though  buried  so  far  under  foot, 

For  I  see  through  this  muck  and  soot 

As  through  the  overhanging  air. 

Till,  lo,  I  am  headlong  driven 

To  know  my  moons  lie  buried  in  Heaven ! 

VII 

I  do  not  hear  the  shadows, 
Nor  see  I  the  upheaving  air 


To  My  Forefathers  1233 

Which  washes  down  the  meadows — 

Dance  they  less  verily  there? 

In  among  unsaid  graves 

Clings  the  ivy  and  scatters 

As  any  pond  by  its  waves — 

What  lose  I  of  life  which  matters, 

So  Beauty  be  the  thing  in  keep 

Links  worlds  to  worlds,  deep  on  deep? 

I  know  ye  were  all  of  what 

Gave  me  soul  at  heart  and  thought, 

Ye  who  look  to  have  passed  away — 

So  any  night  darks  any  day ; 

Yet  any  darkness  matters  not, 

Since  never  were  ye  once  forgot. 

VIII 

I  play  about  your  field  by  night; 
Your  rake  and  flail  I  hold  straight  up 
To  let  the  moon  so  slope  its  light 
'T  will  cut  your  name  across  the  cup 
Of  meadow  where  now  I  stand 
— Rake  and  flail  are  both  in  hand— 
And  think  of  you,  think  of  what 
Any  Hfe  may  be,  so  wrought 
Of  honest  rough-and-tumble  lot, 
Till  goes  my  whisper  which  will  pass 
Down  to  you  through  the  whispering  grass: 
Ye  never  never  were  forgot. 
78 


SAVIGNY  AND  SELTZERELLA 
A  SKIT 

Savigny 

Drunk!     So  drunk,  and  I  know  it! 

My  back  balk  and  fetch-up  show  it ! 
What  for  a  pitch  of  a  street 

To  pick  quarrels  with  peaceful  feet ! 
Two  moons  overhead  stand  witness 

To  yonder  double-sighted  fitness 
Of  Heaven  to  my  brace  of  eyes — 

I  know  I  am  twice  as  wise 
As  that  gawk  who  sees  only  one — 

He  sees  rubbish  in  the  sun ! 

Full?   Full  as  a  tea-bottle  at  a  bar! 

Now,  by  pittiness,  what  we  are. 
We  men  of  manners!     I  say,  gay  chump. 

Your  arm  for  steadiness  while  I  stump 
To  shake  hands  with  yonder  cordial  pump ! 

Your  boots !     Fetch  them  the  ankle-kick ! 
They  look  learned,  talk  thick, 

Lag  like  a  black  lackey  behind, 
Or  they  pitch  horns  of  the  bull,  bull-blind. 

More  to  wind'ard — what  say? 
Never  I  heard  you  speak 

More  than  caterpillars  leak 
1234 


Savigny  and  Seltzerella  1235 

In  the  dry  leaf — you  look  glum 

As  any  tank  of  odium! 
Your  arm,  just  for  the  link, 

Your  useful  phase!     Never  you  think. 
Or  you  may  slip  your  quarter-deck, 

Spew  and  pitch  and  break  your  neck ! 

Come,  fuss  up  a  bit! 

As  the  gunwale  I  am  straight, 
I  handsome,  you  proud  of  it 

That  you  masquerade  as  mate 
And  my  boon  companion!  Hie, 

But  your  snobbism  turns  me  sick! 
Snaps  to  the  pleb-irrision, 

I  'm  for  coequal  division 
'Twixt  cits — I  '11  divide  with  you 

What  I  know,  you  to  do 
Likewise  by  me,  by  which  way  so 

You  shall  have  the  half  I  know 
To  peacock  at  market-show, 

In  exchange  for  which  in  turn 
You  shall  make  it  your  concern 

To  show  me  how  your  two  wits  churn: 
Look^say  me  your  honest  say. 

Is  that  the  moon  overhead. 
Or  is  it  the  sun — then  will  I  lay 

Wager  I  can  honestly  say 
If  it  be  night,  or  be  only  day. 

Seltzerella!     There  's  the  girl 

To  pin  lustre  to  an  earl! 
You  rival  me  for  her! 

I  know  you  for  conqueror 


1236  Savigny  and  Seltzerella 

Of  women,  know  your  way 

You  lord  it,  turn  popinjay. 
Unhook  their  haughtiness,  bring  them  to  you 

As  I  untwist  the  Hly ! — All  true — 
But  not  this  day,  my  quiet  covey, 

For  by  the  Lord  Mayor  you  are  drunk 
As  an  overloaded  monk. 

And  not  I — there  flop  your  boots 
Wallowy  as  wanton  brutes 

In  a  circle,  curve  complete; 
You  cut  conies  in  the  street, 

Mathematics  in  your  feet 
As  you  suppose,  the  while  who  knows 

But  figures  are  figures  to  disclose 
What  wisdom  dances  in  your  toes! 

So  't  is  settled — you  are  drunk ! 

Never  tree-top  in  a  wind 
Reeled  so,  was  so  unpinned 

From  the  solid  under-trunk. 
Your  luck  that  I  am  clear 

As  noon-light,  am  proper  near 
For  an  eye  of  concern  to  you 

In  your  drunken  sunken  stew. 

Ship  ahull,  helm  lashed  alee 

Are  you,  as  you  lean  to  me. 
But — look  alive — Heaven's  green  geese 

But  here  she  is,  Seltzerella, 
Both  lips  to  this  gallant  breeze, 

Both  hands  full  of  new  mitella 
She  brings  to  one  of  us — to  which? 

Never  to  you  as  you  reel  and  pitch ! 
Her  flowers  she  brings  to  me — I  'm  straight 

As  fashion,  nor  I  hesitate 


Savigny  and  Seltzerella  1237 


To  put  feet  forward  like  a  man, 

Which  is  fathoms  more  than 
You  by  your  bungle-boots  could  do — 

How  my  fright  fetches  me  to, 
I  myself  again!     As  for  you. 

My  word  she  will  pass  you  by 
For  the  evidence  that  I 

Go  gifted  to  walk,  while  you 
Pitch  and  fetch  like  a  wanderoo. 


Seltzerella !    This  all-eyed  day 

May  not  match  what  plum,  what  gray 
Mix  in  your  look  of  thought 

I  puzzle  at — condemn  me  not 
That  I  with  my  friend  am  found, 

He  that  drunken  and  unsound 
As  whips  the  wind — truth  to  tell, 

I  have  him  in  tow,  halt  or  jump, 
To  present  him  to  our  pump, 

Little  thinking  I  should  meet 
The  field-flower — your  pardon,  sweet, 

But  my  excuses  for  my  friend, 
Over-tempted  to  unbend 

To  the  rhyton,  nor  recked  the  cost. 
As  now  his  head,  not  his  heart,  is  lost. 

He  thinks  me  outclassed,  drunken, 
So  his  width  of  view  is  shrunken, 

As  sees  a  man  in  his  grimes 

More  than  truth  is  twenty  times. 

Your  arm,  Seltzerella, — so ! 

Leave  him  to  his  dreaming — go 

My  way — I  straight  my  walk, 


1238  Savigny  and  Seltzerella 

Like  the  song-swallow  runs  my  talk- 
Leave  him  to  his  pitch  and  balk ! 

Seltzerella 

Why  so! — but  I  do  not  see  him, 

Your  friend  you  prattle  so! 
'Though  you  keep  him  or  flee  him 

As  you  will,  truth  is  I  know 
He  stands  not  there ! — I  comprehend : 

You  are  your  own  drunken  friend, 
Talking  tatterwallopy. 

Walking  pat  or  scallopy ; 
You  are  your  queasy  friend,  while  not 

Another  hangs  about  this  spot 
You  talk  to — there  your  fright 

On  seeing  me  so  put  you  right. 
Never  I  could  have  known  but  you 

Stood  poised,  fit  as  usual  too, 
When  so  you  begun  to  jibe 

Your  friend,  deal  him  diatribe. 
Right  there  you  tattled  what  you  are, 

Doublesome,  multocular, 
Yet  the  merest  minimus. 

Laughing  loafing  blunderbuss. 
Such  your  mix  of  bob  and  fuss 

And  nothing,  let  me  say  to  you 
"Your  health  and  my  good  day  to  you!" 


PRIESTLINESS 

Hail  to  his  toes 

As  he  goes 

His  own  way 

And  you  follow, 

You  swallow 

All  he  has  to  say, 

You  pinch  at  it, 

Flinch  at  it, 

Wheedle  and  pray, 

He  pastor  and  master  who  owns  his  own  way. 

[I  thought  God  is  one  part  of  me. 

Thought  I  I  'm  part  of  infinity 

Of  what  is,  of  what  is  beyond  to  be.] 

Heel  to  him. 
Kneel  to  him. 
Copy  the  smirk 
He  coils  in  his  cheek, 
Learn  of  his  quirk 
That  you  shall  be  meek 
To  be  mouthy 
Yet  drouthy 
Of  thought  and  weak. 
Stoop  to  thumb  under, 
1239 


I240  Priestliness 

Pale  at  his  thunder 
Of  wind  in  a  mist, 
Lean  on  his  blunder, 
Hark  to  his  hist. 

[But  thought  I  this :  I  'm  meant  to  be 
All  by  my  being  which  I  may  see 
To  ripen  to  compass  consummatry.] 

Duck  to  his  look, 

There  's  the  truth 

In  his  book. 

There  's  the  tooth 

Full  of  grit, 

Full  of  poison  to  spit 

And  you  will  submit 

To  his  will, 

You  will  bow  down 

To  his  frown 

To  fulfil 

The  least  wish 

Of  his  devilish 

Will. 

i 

[But  I — am  I  to  mump  or  trim, 

Uncaptain,  take  the  lash  of  his  whim. 

Take  my  view  of  God  through  the  eyes  of  him?] 

Meddlesome 
Peddlesome 
Priest  at  his  tricks 
Of  cassock 
And  hassock, 
Of  candlesticks. 
So  you  will  unhinge 


Priestliness  1241 

Till  the  end  be  what 
But  thraldom  of  thought, 
Shrinking  to  cringe 
So  God  will  delight 
At  your  booby  fright, 
At  your  spirit  blight? 

[Thought  I  God  is  such  power  in  me 

As  ripes  toward  taller  sublimity 

Than  master  and  slave — there  's  the  God  in  me !] 

Cowls  and  capes, 

Petrine  ground, 

Little  bugle-shapes 

Of  sound 

'Round  an  altar  wave, 

'Round  the  very  nave. 

While  you  mumble  there 

'Twixt  the  wheeling  air, 

Flabbergullion,  flabbergasted  slave. 

[I  thought  I  am  the  man  to  be 

More  than  cackles  nonentity 

Up  from  the  Hell  of  their  Holy  See.] 

Let  God  be  God, 
But  I  am  I 
That  fear  no  rod, 
Craving  no  sky 
Save  to  make  my  way 
By  force  of  what 
Truth  has  to  say, 
Nor  I  heed  the  trot 
Of  their  roundelay 
Of  blight  and  rot. 


1242  Priestliness 

And  I  wear  my  pout, 
And  I  hug  my  doubt, 
And  there  goes  no  God  shall  hound  me  out. 

[Thought  I  men  are  meant  for  the  race. 

To  mantle  somewhat,  to  grow  apace 

Above  Priest  and  his  cormorant  growl  of  grace. 

What  a  sweet  girl 

In  her  place. 

What  a  pearl 

Of  a  face 

On  the  white  wasted  hand 

Which  we  understand 

Is  in  death — 

How  the  breath 

Nor  reasoneth 

Nor  tolls  a  prayer, 

And  he  laid  her  there 

By  his  double  cut 

At  her  soul — he  shut 

Her  will  in  his  fist, 

He  ground  it  to  grist, 

So  now 

By  her  unexampled  brow. 

As  only  such  loveliness  knows  how, 

She  makes  him  her  final  obedient  bow. 

[Thought  I  God  is  the  power  that  seeks 

Onwardness,  as  any  lily  leaks 

Oranged  whitedness  between  the  cheeks.] 

Comes  a  day 
And  a  way 


Priestliness  1243 

To  make  right; 

He  will  pay 

For  the  sway 

Of  his  might, 

For  the  play 

Of  his  blight; 

There  's  power 

In  the  kink 

Of  a  flower, 

In  the  wink 

Of  a  shower; 

She  shall  grow 

To  be  more 

Than  the  heart 

Had  in  store 

From  the  start. 

While  what  of  his  puff -above,  Paulish  art? 

[Thought  I  God  is  the  power  in  me 
Will  break  chains,  snap  the  curb  in  three 
To  make  yet  another  God  of  me.] 

Snari  and  bend 
To  the  end 
To  unbrave, 
Play  slave ;    , 
Cock  an  ear 
To  the  pitch 
In  his  sneer. 
Get  a  twitch 
To  your  fear; 
Pray  prayers. 
Altar  stairs 
For  your  knees, 


1244  Priestliness 

God  to  appease 
And  to  please 
By  the  shrimp 
In  your  limp, 
By  the  slouch 
In  your  pouch — 
While  yet, 
Do  you  not  forget, 
Man  is  to  be 
As  the  plan 
'  And  the  span 
Of  the  sea 
To  unfold 
Into  yellow, 
Unmould 
Into  mellow 
Feathers  of  gold, 
To  make  brave 
As  the  wave 
Is  to  climb 

Through  slush-heap  or  rime 
To  match  the  stars  by  the  blink  sublime. 

[God  in  his  Heaven,  I  in  mine 
Unlorded,  nor  counts  the  countersign, 
I  my  own  God — there  's  the  reach  divine. 


NOT  ALL  IS  GOLD 

Pluck  the  apple 

Out  of  her  hat 

Of  the  orange  cheek 

And  dapple, 

And  that 
Phoebe  feather,  climax  peak 
Of  rachis,  untwist  what  bow 
Glossens  at  her  throat,  and  lo. 
You  do  not  like  her  unrichened  so? 

Pull  the  ruffle 
Out  of  her  cape 
Of  quality  red, 

Of  shuffle 

And  shape 
Of  fashion,  but  there  instead 
Fasten  untaught  calico. 
Let  the  terry  velvet  go — 
Never  you  liked  her  the  plain  way  so? 

Rub  that  polish 

Out  of  her  belt 

Of  bronze  at  her  waist; 

Demolish 

What  gelt 
Of  satin,  enamel  paste 
Sprinkles  at  her  neck  such  glow 
1245 


1246  Not  All  Is  Gold 

As  the  constellations  throw — 

You  will  not  have  her  becrippled  so? 

Yours  was  one  view 

Behind  her  hat 

For  the  diamond  there 

In  her  blue 

Cravat 
In  buckles  of  velvet  hair, 
Nor  you  saw  one  wonderful  thing, 
Fashion  outside  your  reckoning, 
Spirit  behind  any  flounce  of  wing. 

How  fault  goes  out, 
Each  lie  is  lost, 
So  I  come  again 

To  my  doubt 

And  cost 
Of  truth,  till  I  get  it  plain: 
She  stood  beyond  your  knowing. 
You  so  blinded  by  her  glowing 
You  took  the  gait  her  flounce  was  going. 

Again  she  's  here. 
The  sweet  same  girl 
Of  a  lip  so  red, 

Claim  so  clear, 

Such  pearl 
Each  whisper  she  dreamed  or  pled. 
But  now  not  a  pearl  in  sight — 
Calico,  poverty  bUght, 
Yet  the  same  modest  great  heart  in  sight 


Not  All  Is  Gold  1247 

I  saw  that  day 
You  put  her  by 
For  her  lack  of  lace, 

Of  display 

Of  tie 
Of  gold  of  abounding  grace ! 
Now  she  comes  to  look  to  me 
If  I  may  look  so  I  may  see 
Sparkle  in  her  of  divinity. 

She  comes  my  way! 

This  is  her  hour 

Of  meekness  of  heart 

To  display 

Her  power 
Of  selflessness,  act  her  part 
Of  plain  appearance  to  show 
She  is  more  than  papilio 
Dancing  to  die  in  his  candle-glow. 

I  see  so  deep 
Into  her  eyes 
By  my  gift  of  sight 

That  I  keep 

My  prize 
For  only  the  other  light 
Of  soul  in  her  eyes  I  see, 
Other  worlds  of  life  to  be, 
And  she  the  life  of  the  world  to  me. 


BY  MOONRISE 


If  I  have  a  thought 
After  the  pleasant  day  is  over, 
After  the  sun  is  under  cover, 
And  I  approach  the  kind  of  nought 
Which  sleep  is — if  I  have  a  thought 
That  just  because  I  sleep  I  know 
There  's  nothing  of  me,  while  so 
I  am  nothing,  I  am  not — 
If  I  capture  this  one  thought. 
Comes  another  close  in  back: 
This  thinking  is  only  one  knack 
Soul  has,  scarce  more,  I  would  think, 
Than  is  chopped  in  a  spirit's  wink — 
For  look,  what  thought  that  man  had, 
My  neighbor,  who  now  is  dead. 
Is  now  my  thought — he  passes  on. 
Never  his  thought  he  hung  upon. 
Which  now  is  mine — he  is  gone. 
But  who  knows  how  far  away. 
While  here  is  point  for  thinking  on: 
He  left  his  thought  with  me  that  day 
He  turned  so  and  went  his  way, 
Quit  his  plucky  diaphragm-play, 
Gave  up  the  good  and  the  bad, 
All  he  knew  of,  all  he  had 
1248 


By  Moonrise  1249 

To  me,  so  I  have  his  thought 
Like  as  I  have  his  polyglot 
Of  symbols — yet  was  there  cause 
Made  him  what  he  is,  what  he  was, 
So  you  would  not  say  his  thought 
Foundered  in  that  potato  lot 
More  than  it  floated  from  there, 
Seeing  he  left  his  thought  to  me 
To  friend  me  every  how  or  where, 
And  seeing  what  I  see  too, 
I  am  higher  than  my  thew 
Or  polo-leap — I  see  through 
This  thinking — there  's  the  elf. 
My  being,  my  boundless  self — 
There  *s  the  surprising  whole. 
There  's  the  superabounding  soul ! 


II 


Did  he  wander  forth,  my  friend. 

Or  come  to  the  abrupt  end 

I  fancy  I  see  because 

He  is  no  more  what  he  was, 

Wears  not  now  the  flower-blue 

Round  eye  he  wore  for  peeking  through 

To  see  only  elbow-measurement, 

Half  his  seeing  prison-pent, 

While  thereso  my  spirit  sees 

To  cut  through  bold  eternities — 

How,  think  you,  could  I  see 

Without  eternity  in  me? 


I2^0 


By  Moonrise 


III 

Little  lyrie  in  his  brook, 

How  I  wonder  what  he  dreams, 

He  so  small  as  never  to  look 

Where  his  water-carriage  streams, 

He  so  small  as  not  to  see 

Ocean  yonder,  how  the  giilp 

Would  mash  him  to  sorry  pulp. 

Save  that  he  rises  to  tower 

Over  above  oceans  of  power, 

Now  to  swoop  as  a  plunging  star, 

Hurl  his  spots  spectacular. 

Now  to  poise,  falcon-fashion. 

Let  the  mad  seas  growl  and  dash  on- 

Am  I  to  compass  less  than  he 

In  my  own  sublimity 

Of  being,  I  who  so  see 

Into  other  eternity 

Than  any  deep  of  water  makes, 

Than  earth  models  or  sun  bakes, 

And  I  hurl  my  thought  to  higher 

Than  the  suns'  suns  acrospire 

To  know  there  is  that  in  me 

Fathoms  to  sweep  sublimity 

Of  other  being  than  I  take 

From  tea-sop,  cob-apple  cake? 

There  he  purples  in  his  sea, 

Compasses  all  he  claims  to  be — 

Shall  I  compass  less  than  he? 

IV 

I  make  my  round  of  audits. 
So  I  sum  up  the  world ; 


By  Moonrise  125 1 

One  has  his  full  of  plaudits 
Because  he  is  churched,  is  earled; 
One  picks  his  way  by  coarse 
Brute  upperdom,  quadruped  force; 
Yet  another  weaves  so  fine 
As  soul  is — but  soul  is  divine 
Beyond  earth,  stands  not  satisfied 
Just  because  I  lived  and  died. 
Hangs  to  the  outermost  perch. 
High  height  over  earl  or  church, 
So  the  world  sums  up  so  small 
By  my  audit  of  it  all. 


There  I  lived  because  he  died. 
Pretty  star-bird,  Epsom  dyed, 
That  gave  me  his  heart  and  song  inside, 
While,  by  the  good  Graces  that  know, 
My  own  heart  would  not  have  it  so 
I  stay  because  he  drops  to  go. 
There  then  there  goes  in  me 
Loftier  than  the  world  I  see, 
Nobler  being  bound  to  be. 


See  how  I  am  subject  to  Law 
I  must  obey  and  labor  for 
As  servant,  whip  into  shape. 
Take  the  foot- walk  and  short  nape 
Of  all  men  under  the  sun 
Since  the  tricks  of  men  begun. 
And  I  wear  fetters — there  's  this  box 
Of  bones  to  hold  me  under  locks 
And  I  am  knotted  and  so  tied 


1252  By  Moonrise 

Soul  stands  prisoner  inside — 
Yet  would  I  be  free  of  Law, 
Free  of  Power — I  hunger  for 
Freedom  to  unshank,  unmuzzle, 
Cut  the  Gordian-knotted  puzzle, 
Come  to  independence,  know 
I  am  free  to  come  or  go 
Above  fetters,  as  I  wis 
Independent  spirit  is — 
So  am  I  meant  to  make  free. 
Bring  all  soul  there  is  in  me 
To  Power — shall  I  not  do 
As  the  Nature  means  me  to 
That  gave  me  such  eyeful  hope 
As  sees  outside  my  envelope 
Of  gull-feathers  or  quaint  pot 
Of  broken  amputated  thought? 


There  I  go  to  seek  my  mate! 
Goes  the  tiger,  too,  the  same ! 
Do  I  think  the  thing  so  great, 
Mood  which  breedeth  into  flame 
That  dies  down  as  I  go  on. 
While  lastly  the  flame  is  gone, 
Yet  I  fill  out  into  lordlier  love 
Than  I  find  in  mink  or  dove, 
My  love  of  truth,  love  of  my  race, 
Love  which  knows  nor  resting-place 
Nor  fine  friend  nor  finer  mate. 
And  I  am  not  to  hesitate 
For  this,  that  I  shall  lose  my  place, 
Life  perchance,  and  in  any  case 


By  Moonrise  1253 

What  your  world  prizes  for  so  great, 
Gold,  consummate  laurels  of  State, 
To  prove  in  me  there  ranges  higher 
Than  pot-life,  ambition-fire, 
Hence  higher  than  all  this  earth 
Of  any  trinketry  is  worth? 


To  strive  for  gain,  is  it  not  nature, 
Rooted  in  each  boiling  creature? 
But  soul  knows  one  loftier  thing 
Than  gain,  or  any  reckoning 
What 's  to  come  after — just  to  do 
Noblemost  there  is  in  you 
To  the  last  stitch,  nor  once  complain, 
Nor  count  one  stitch  in  the  cloth  of  gain. 


What  is  there  that  I  would  keep 

Which  the  world  has,  once  I  come  to  sleep 

And  not  question  and  not  know 

Which  way  I  am  bound  to  go. 

But  only  that  the  truth  is  so 

My  tie  of  life  I  shall  sever, 

I  shall  give  up  thought  and  go — 

What  is  there  in  earth  below 

Which  a  man  would  keep  forever? 


So  I  think,  as  night  comes  on. 
As  evening  levels  one  pointing  star 
To  show  me  how  the  world  is  gone, 
How  there  goes  other  mightier  Far 


1254  By  Moonrise 

For  wonderment,  and  I  look  on 
To  other  unnameablc  places 
Of  other  being,  soulfuller  faces 
And  lastinger,  pro  founded  shine 
A  dot  nearer  what  is  divine 
So  I  may  see  my  one  Hfe 
Of  uncompromising  strife 
Brings  me  to  power  and  to  see 
Genuine  divinity  in  me 
Beyond  ounce-life — did  I  kill 
Purple  martin  that  I  might  fill 
My  veins  from  his  cup  of  blood, 
Drink  him  up,  forget  the  good 
He  dropped  me  in  his  lifted  mood 
Of  unpremeditated  song 
All  soulful  and  all  April  long. 
So  is  his  death  his  dart 
To  pierce  and  open  up  my  heart, 
And  I  am  commanded  to  see 
Other  nobler  coils  in  me 
To  strike  against  this  life  I  see, 
Points  my  soulfuller  destiny. 


VI 


So  as  I  come  to  sleep, 
As  night  begins  to  dark,  look  deep. 
And  I  have  gained  on  the  thing. 
Stand  stronger  for  my  buffeting, 
Learn,  whichever  way  I  go, 
Nobler  being  is  yet  to  know, 
Vast  creation  means  it  so, 
Comes  the  last  thought  supreme, 


By  Moonrise  1255 


I  cannot  think  it  otherwise : 
Life  is  some  blundersome  dream 
And  I  must  wake,  I  must  rise, 
Such  is  the  splendor  of  my  skies. 


HEAVEN 

You  thought  no  Heaven  hangs  in  sight, 
That  you  play  only  with  bubbles  of  light 
Which  sun  blows,  life  a  way  of  endeavor 
By  what  is  only  coinish,  is  clever. 
Nor  Heaven  in  aim,  nothing  ever 
Beyond  your  being  achievement-clever. 

Or  you  thought  Heaven  is  a  place  in  space. 

Poise  of  elegance,  some  quantum  spot 

Co-ordinate  with  place  in  thought, 

Concretion  to  be  put  in  phrase 

I  swallow  so  I  get  what  light 

Dangles  in  my  chrysolite, 

I  get  what  thumb  rings  I  wore, 

Yellower  only  than  before, 

I  get  what  banquets  the  senses — 

Yet  how  may  I  complish  that, 

Knowing  the  where  or  the  whence  is 

Only  a  trick  of  the  senses 

I  play  toes  and  trousers  at 

Till  I  unhitch  my  fastened  mind, 

Drop  the  haltered  world  behind? 

Or  you  thought  Heaven  is  a  kind  of  Earth 

As  Earth  is,  as  I  know  it 
For  its  oddy-doddy  worth. 
Foot-gait  and  the  clip  to  go  it, 
1256 


Heaven  1257 

Nest  of  paramount  easiness, 
Or  test  of  grit  and  greasiness 
To  strike  the  humdrum,  the  fetch, 
Play  you  either  rich  or  wretch, 
Then  the  one  Httle  final  stretch. 

Comes  life  over  again?     Not  that,  depend! 

More  by  universes  goes  divined 

Than  hobbles  in  any  mind, 

Worlds  to  circumference  ends  without  end. 

Did  I  find  my  task  to  do 

Earns  me  buttonhole  or  shoe, 

Yet  I  come  to  power  by  force 

Of  monster  effort,  by  which  one  course 

What  man  I  am  makes  the  point  in  view, 

Never  buttonhole  or  shoe. 

Or  you  thought  Heaven  a  thing  to  gain, 

Payment  in  fair  exchange 

For  fine  performance,  for  magic  pain — 

Yet  comes  there  quick  the  thought 

There  's  no  Heaven  to  be  bought 

I  value  the  dapple  apple  dot, 

Once  I  hold  this  much  in  view, 

Soul  is  never  to  be  bought 

To  blossom  transcendant  true. 

Never  Heaven  to  be  counted  aught 

As  price  to  be  paid  to  you 

For  loftiest  performing  true. 

Mummy-chog  in  brackish  stream 
Fetches  his  twist  to  quiver 
Till  sun-spots  in  him  gleam 
As  flashes  the  breast  of  a  river. 


1258  Heaven 

And  he  is  in  his  glorified  state 

Just  to  jump,  to  scintillate 

In  somersault,  his  oily  curve. 

So  you  see  him  pitch  and  swerve 

To  seaward,  and  the  thing  is  done: 

He  is  more  than  he  begun. 

Took  his  independent  run, 

Fattened  in  the  plunging  sun. 

He  his  own  Heaven — to  match  it,  none. 

I  am  more  than  chog  in  a  stream. 

As  I  thought — I  leap  to  dream, 

I  plash  in  another  light 

Than  sea-drip,  ground-hog  sight; 

I  rise  to  more  than  pelican  thought, 

I  know  what  life  is,  what  it  is  not, 

I  fulminate  in  a  wider  ether, 

I  'm  the  cosmopolitan  breather 

Of  worlds  of  unticketed  size, 

I  sail  outside  this  globe  of  eyes 

Or  any  frame  of  Paradise 

By  no  compass,  by  only  my  thought 

Of  what  I  am,  of  what  I  am  not. 

So  must  I  tack  to  it  to  be 

What  I  am  not,  the  vast  in  me 

Which  matches  with  eternity. 

As  wherefore  shall  I  not  ripen 

As  I  see  the  sea-parr  stripen 

And  spotten  out  to  his  limit-rim. 

All  his  Heaven  complete  in  him  ? 

If  I  may  not,  then  am  I  less 
Than  he  in  his  consummatencss. 
Since  he  is  all  creation  meant  him, 


Heaven  1259 

All  the  quality  Heaven  sent  him, 

While  I  am  not  that  if  I  do  not  come 

Into  my  own  Elysium 

Of  marshaling  such  soul  in  me 

As  touches  on  immensity 

Of  incommensurable  thought 

Of  what  I  am,  of  what  I  am  not, 

Which  holds  in  view  finer  to  come  to 

Than  your  rubadub  will  drum  to, 

More  than  chogset  in  his  river 

Could  encompass  in  him  ever. 

Such  thought ! — so  it  comes  to  me 

Out  of  tough  perplexity 

To  en  widen,  so  I  press  at  it, 

Hurl  my  no  and  yes  at  it. 

Try  to  poke  and  guess  at  it 

To  know  if  there  monarchs  a  cause 

Makes  the  thought  what  it  is; 

I  face  the  thick  army  of  Laws 

At  their  tactics  of  mysteries 

To  find  what  the  world  will  one  day  find, 

Always  this  en  widening  mind, 

Wide  as  the  view-pile  I  see 

Of  worlds  to  riddle  eternity, 

They  but  only  part  of  me. 

Seeing  I  encircle  more 

Than  cobbles  their  eternal  shore 

Of  cities — thereso  I  see 

Eternity  finds  place  in  me. 

As  I  find  place  in  my  mind 

For  the  Heaven  I  may  not  see 

Because  it  makes  one  part  of  me — 

May  I  leave  myself  behind? 


i26o  Heaven 


You  are  the  exalted  boy, 

You  in  your  wonderful  prime 

Which  outnumbers  and  outwearies  time, 

You  of  the  mountain-eagle-joy, 

Such  blue  gentle  ample  eye 

Like  a  smaller  dome  of  sky, 

Vision  in  the  quality-brow 

Of  such  a  copious  mould, 

More  is  there  than  could  be  told, 

More  than  the  world  knows  how 

To  fathom — you  plucked  your  power 

Out  of  the  Oloroso  flower, 

Your  mystic  look  out  of  the  cloud 

Of  thundrous  lip  and  the  quick  snap 

Of  lightning,  out  of  the  crowd 

Of  carbon  atoms  and  the  gorgon  gap 

Of  darkness — you  took  your  sigh. 

Also  your  indescribable  eye 

Out  of  the  rhythmic  rhombic  sky 

Of  planetudes — you  took  your  gulp  in 

Sea- wash  and  sucked  the  pulp  in, 

You  were  brother  to  the  sculpin, 

So  are  you  brother  to  the  sun 

And  the  moon's  midnight — you  ape 

The  grassant  couple-flower,  you  shape 

Spirit  to  the  twist  of  nape 

And  visage,  and  evermore, 

You  are  what  is  gone  before, 

So  are  you  what  is  to  come, 

For,  any  way  I  may  lean  to  think. 

Past  and  Future  are  link  and  link 

In  endlessness,  so  you  drum 

Creation  up  to  full  your  wants, 


Heaven  1261 

Capture  such  unvisioned  haunts 
Of  Heaven  as  could  not  be  said 
In  a  lip's  language — you  the  elf 
To  outrun  what  is  life,  is  dead, 
So  are  you  your  Heaven  itself. 

Will  Heaven  ever  take  you?     Not  so! 
You  shall  take  Heaven,  for  lo. 
By  the  dominance  of  what  is  true 
Out  into  the  comprising  blue, 
By  one  reigning  supreme  ghost 
Which  is  first  of  you  and  most, 
There  will  your  soiil-open  eyes 
Take  any  Heaven  by  surprise, 
For  by  my  supra-mortal  view 
I  see  Heaven  and  Heaven  in  you. 

Given  all  thought  that  could  be  given. 
All  dreaming  'round  the  zenith  driven, 
What  Heaven  for  man  like  being  Heaven? 


INDEX 


A  Bras  Ou verts,  1090 
Adelyn,  or,  How  to  Win  Her,  545 
.  Afraid  of  Me  ?  435 
After  Death,  1040 
Agnes,  238 
Alioth,  745 
Always  Rosalie,  479 
Among  Ruins,  383 
Among  the  Moonbeams,  982 
Antipodes : 

I.  Hideous,  936 
II.  Beautiful,  940 
Appian  Way,  The,  115 
At  a  Window,  986 
At  Sea,  482 
At  the  Altar,  993 
Athanasia,  716 

B 

Bachelor,  A,  290 

Battle,  12 19 

Ben  Total,  179 

Bird  in  a  Bonnet,  A,  6 

Bloodhounds  of  the  Czar,  1019 

Bountiful   Canny's  Granddaughter 

from  Dull  IVIoor,  417 
Boy  Song,  228 
Bread  on  the  Waters   1057 
Brilla,  732 
Brothers,  660 
By  Love,  737 
By  Moonrise,  1248 


Campo  Santo,  707 
Cassandra  Southwick,  944 
Charlotte,  1087 
Clasping  the  Roses,  832 
Claudia,  849 
Come,  Come  Away!  185 
Confidentially,  542 
Cor  Cordium,  979 

Craft,  473 

D 

De  Amicitia,  looi 

Dead,  394 

Death,  1030 

Deversorium     Viatoris     Hierosoly- 

mam  Proficiscentis,  306 
Doctor  and  Patient,  216 
Dollar-Foot  Farm,  840 
Don  Dun,  698 

E 

Eagle  Song,  1047 

Edward  Farnum  Southwick,  no 

Egohood,  132 

Elbows,  1 136 

Ella  and  Stella,  iioi 

Elmbank,  11 86 

Elsewhere,  1054 

Endlessness,  439 

Esto  Perpetua,  406 

Eunice,  522 

Eunice  and  I,  797 


1263 


1264 


Index 


Euthanasia,  761 
Evvigzcitgcist,  1203 


Fcarfulncjss,  1140 
For  a  Sign,  1175 
For  Example,  390 
For  Love,  1105 
Friend,  A,  1146 

G 

Gage  d'  Amour,  i 
Gamblers,  1094 
General,  The,  861 
Gloxinia,  45 
Golgotha,  93 
Greatness,  795 
Gunllint,  752 

H 

Halo  Skinip,  315 

Heaven,  1256 

Heel  of  the  Hunt,  The,  876 

Hell,  346 

Her  Duke,  308 

Hereafter,  492 

Here  's  Luck!  143 

His  Worst,  355 


Imperialism,  768 

Impromptu,  301 

In  a  Bell-Tower,  526 

In  a  Dream,  447 

In  a  Mirror,  443 

In  an  Inn,  711 

In  Coelis,  118 

In  Preston,  503 

In  the  Nature  of  Things,  67 

In  the  Overworld,  294 

Incognito,  846 


Indictment,  The,  12 10 

J 

Japanese  War  Claim,  A,  297 
Jealous,  990 
Jockey-Day,  241 

K 

Kings  and  Queens,  1005 
Know  Thy  Chick,  777 
Know  Thy  Horse,  669 
Know  Thy  Male,  1015 
Know  Thy  Phyllis,  403 
Know  Thy  Task,  262 
Know  Thyself,  83 


Leo  and  Elfinclla,  674 

Life  in  the  World,  512 

Lilac,  II 

Little  Silver,  337 

Longings  of  an  Acolyte,  11 53 

Lord  Lavish,  158 

Lost  and  Found,  805 

Love,  335 

Lover  to  Priest,  124 

M 

Mabel  Maplcton,  430 

Man  and  Bird,  63 

Man  and  Book,  371 

Man  Militant,  The,  265 

Man  of  It,  The,  244 

Man  or  Spider  ?  663 

Midfield  Thoughts,  748 

Monk  in  Monotone,  A,  958 

Moon  Fields,  or  Man  the  God,  556 

More  and  Higher,  1072 

My  Friends,  364 

My  Rose,  11 71 

My  Wren,  1098 


Index 


1265 


My  Xenium,  191 

N 

Night  of  the  Big  Wind,  The,  1167 

No  Death,  467 

No  Man's  Friend,  49 

Nonconformist,  203 

Not  a  Word,  1077 

Not  All  Is  Gold,  1245 

Not  So  Quick,  1035 

Not  Yet,  1 1 18 

Not  Your  Dog,  658 

Now  and  Then,  90 

O 

Old  Darby,  320 

On  the  Rhine,  196 

One  Afternoon,  231 

One  Great  Man,  488 

One  Man,  19 

One  Nobleman,  917 

Gotrum  and  Corncockle,  258 


Paper  Dolls,  452 

Peacham  Pasture,  11 96 

Pearl,  78 

Pebbles,  211 

Peter  Roublemint,  85 

Philosopher  and  Priest,  1009 

Pickthank  and  Prudence,  iiii 

Pink  Apple  Point,  456 

Pluck- Luck,  719 

Polly  Man  and  Folly  Girl,  702 

Priest  and  Sequela,  786 

Priestliness,  1239 

Prunella's  Priest,  881 

Pyrrha,  30 

Q 
Quechee  River,  153 


Question,  The,  950 

R 

Raison  d'  Etre,  866 
Rivals,  783 
Robber,  A,  410 
Rosalie,  955 
Rosy  Weigelia,  507 
'Round  a  Corner,  924 
Run-Amuck  Mack,  920 


Savigny  and  Seltzerella,  1234 

Semper  Supra,  836 

Shark  and  the  Lark,  The,  961 

Sheldrake  Elegance,  350 

Shriving  Pen,  A,  1049 

Sing,  Gentle  Bird,  146 

Sky  Word,  A,  817 

Song, 122 

Song  in  a  Thistle,  A,  870 

Spirit,  807 

Spirit  Beauty,  827 

Stars,  The,  1182 

Story  of  Zemepheth   Tallith,  The, 

485 
"Success"  at  a  Brush,  150 
Sufficit,  54 
Summer  Days,  42 
Sunrise  Reverie,  1122 
Supernity,  126 
Sword  and  Pen,  997 
Sylph  Self,  The,  1091 


Thinking  of  Eunice,  686 
Thinking  of  Preston,  756 
Thou  Shalt  Not  Kill,  801 


1266 


Index 


To  a  Street  Minstrel,  694 

To  My  Forefathers,  1230 

To  Such  a  Wife,  15 

To  Whom  It  May  Concern,  1222 

Tragedy,  1082 

Trickly  Le  Bon  Pot,  28 

Twins,  342 

Two  Kinds  of  Love,  928 

Two  Notes  of  a  Thrush,  1227 

U 

Under  Snow,  11 09 


Valerie  Fay,  465 
Viewfully,  248 
Village  Fool,  163 
Virtute,  Non  Astutia,  1129 

W 

Waiting,  812 
Wily  Smiley,  376 
Worship  versus  Love,  822 
Wytopitlock,  13 


t 


